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BOY HOLIDAYS IN 
THE LOUISIANA WILDS 





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The suddenly unbalanced fisherman tumbled backward over the 
jjort bow. Frontispiece. See page 151. 


BOY HOLIDAYS 


IN THE 

LOUISIANA WILDS 

BY 

ANDREWS WILKINSON 

• I 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
HAROLD JAMES CUE 


Si on-kefer T 
to 



aWVAD *Q3S 



BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 

1917 



■ 1 » 





Copyright, igiy, 

By Little, Brown, and Company. 
All rights reserved 


Published, September, 1917 




SEP l3-.|gi7 


Norinooti ^Prt00 

Set up and electrotyped by J. S. Cushing Co., Norwood, Mass,, U.S.A. 
Presswork by S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 


©CI.A476059 

I . 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I 

Gombo Joe Finds a Foe 


PAGE 

I 

II 

Moving Day for an Alligator Family 

, 

12 

III 

A Fierce and Famous Pair 

. 

29 

IV 

The Wise Coon that Got Away 

. 

51 

V 

Why Mr. Alligator never Bellows 

IN 



Bayous 

, 

66 

VI 

How THE Squirrel-Jay War Began . 

. 

79 

VII 

How Mr. Turkey Buzzard Became Bald 

92 

VIII 

Feathered Singers, Dancers, and Sinners 

104 

IX 

Bruin’s Ghost in the Haunted Woods 


117 

X 

Big Mingo the Bayou Boatman 


130 

XI 

Morning in the Louisiana Marshes 


142 

XII 

The Meanderings of Mr. Muskimus 


155 

XIII 

Mr. Buck and His Black Hunters . 


167 

XIV 

How Mr. Fox Fooled Mr. Wolf 


177 

XV 

The Finding of the Lost Fawns 


188 

XVI 

How Mr. Fox Tricked Mr. Owl 


202 

XVII 

Why Mr. Owl Hates Mr. Hawk 


217 

XVIII 

The Lone Egret and His Lost Mate 


228 

XIX 

How Ponies Came to the Attakapas . 


242 




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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


The suddenly unbalanced fisherman 
tumbled backward over the port 
bow . ... . . . Frontispiece 


“Dar he comes ! Oh, you Bill ! Oh, you big 
alligator ! ” 

They bounded over the tall marsh grass on 
to the back and shoulders of the 
doomed doe . . . . . 

‘‘Mose let out a yell which woke up de 
woods till de hills hollered it back” 


PAGE 22 1 / 

“ 45 v/ 

“ 126 / 


“Dey say you’s a fa’rly good chicken killer 

yo’se’f, Mr. Fox!” . . . . “ 211 v 

“Thrice around the ring of fires he rode on 

his snorting, coal-black stallion” . . “ 256 



BOY HOLIDAYS IN THE 
LOUISIANA WILDS 

I 

GOMBO JOE FINDS A FOE 

O NE night in June three sturdy boys in 
the beginning of their teens were gathered 
in council around the reading table in the 
central hall of the large residence on a Louisiana 
sugar plantation. With great interest they were 
planning how to pass their Saturday holiday of 
the morrow, which was the first day of their 
long summer vacation. 

Outside of their family circles these youngsters 
were commonly known by such remarkable names 
as “Little Boss”, “Hopfrog”, and “Bumble.” 
They called themselves collectively, in compli- 
ment to their chosen chief, the Boy Scouts of 
Birdland, which was the name of his plantation 
home. 

Birdland plantation, for the full length of its 
front, lay immediately behind the levees of the 


2 


GOMBO JOE FINDS A FOE 


Mississippi River, being one of the oldest of 
several hundred sugar plantations which covered 
two hundred miles of both banks of the river and 
composed the country locally called “The Missis- 
sippi River Coast.” The plantation contained 
more than a thousand acres of cultivated fields, 
several hundred more of cattle pastures, and, 
back of its cleared lands, a vast tract of forest 
and cypress swamp which extended very many 
miles behind numerous other plantations. Below 
the lower half of this great forest lay the immense 
Louisiana Gulf marsh, from thirty to fifty miles 
wide, reaching down to the Gulf of Mexico. It 
is unnecessary to describe the plantation’s big 
sugar factory, its workshops, barns, and stables, 
or its populous negro village, “The Quarters”, 
since Birdland was but one of more than a thou- 
sand such Louisiana sugar plantations which 
long survived our Civil War. 

The house where our plantation Boy Scouts 
were gathered for one of the week-end visits 
which they regularly interchanged was a roomy 
and ancient plantation mansion more than a 
hundred years old. It was situated near the 
center of well-kept grounds as extensive in area 
as several city blocks combined. Beyond the 


GOMBO JOE FINDS A FOE 


3 


level grassy lawns which surrounded it in every 
•direction stood groves of great evergreen and 
annual trees, while near it were arranged groups of 
shrubbery, hedges, and flower beds which were 
planted and designed in long gone years. 

Two or three hundred yards in front of this 
venerable dwelling flowed the majestic old Missis- 
sippi River, beyond a sloping, grass-grown levee 
built as a battlement against its yearly attacks. 
For the silent, harmless, and sleepy-looking old 
river-giant of the sunny summer and the hazy 
autumn often wakened to become turbulent and 
terribly dangerous in the season of its vernal 
floods ; and it roared and raged in response to 
the storms of the equinox. 

Birdland plantation, so full of attractions to a 
group of wide-awake, venturesome lads, was the 
home of Little Boss, the acknowledged leader of 
this little band of friends. 

Little Boss, although quite a big boy for his 
age, still bore the diminutive name with which he 
had been honored by the family servants since 
his infancy because of his alleged resemblance to 
his father. That name was soon carried to the 
negro quarters and there also was generally 
adopted. A few of the venerable colored folk of 


4 


GOMBO JOE FINDS A FOE 


the ancient regime, who were especially fond of 
the boy and faithfully devoted to his forbears, 
felt that they honored the boy and his family 
still more by changing the title to “Little Mahster/’ 

“Hopfrog” received his adopted name in a less 
complimentary but not an unkindly way. When 
he first went to the school which his two most 
intimate friends attended, he could not talk 
“American” as accurately as most of his school- 
mates, as he was a member of a Creole family 
which spoke only French at home. The day of 
his arrival at school he had been delighted at 
learning the lively game of leapfrog in the noon 
recess. The next day at recess time, as his 
schoolmates poured out yelling into the grassy 
yard, the new pupil eagerly proposed : “ Boys, 

let us again play those fine game w’at you calls 
hop-frog.” That was enough reason for the 
American boys to give him a new name on the 
spot. They did so with noisy enthusiasm, and 
it stuck very tightly and permanently. 

“Bumble” lost his baptismal name also at 
school from boyish appreciation of a personal 
peculiarity. His initials were B. B; and, of 
course, they were deeply dug into his desk-lid. 
When learning his lessons, he always read them 


GOMBO JOE FINDS A FOE 


5 


over with an incessant, unsubdued buzzing, which 
■sounded precisely like the humming of bumble- 
bees hovering closely over clover blossoms. That 
habit annoyed a nervous desk-mate, who felt 
that he finally got fully even with his persistent 
tormentor by nicknaming him Bumble Bee. It 
was appreciated by the whole school at once, and 
it clung to the victim as closely as wax; being 
naturally very soon shortened to Bumble. 

This abolition of the two boys’ lawful, proper 
names was the cause of a few Punic wars being 
fought on the public road promptly after the close 
of school. But they resulted in no damage be- 
yond the normal fleeting boyish bruises. Very 
soon Hopfrog and Bumble became perfectly 
reconciled to the removal of their Christian names ; 
in time they came to regard the general use of the 
new ones as a mark of popularity ; and, finally, 
they felt offended if any of their schoolmates ad- 
dressed them formally by their lost names. 

The hall council of the Birdland Boy Scouts 
was suddenly interrupted during its most im- 
portant deliberations by the intrusion of a colored 
maidservant who announced : 

‘‘Little Boss, Gombo Joe’s at de back steps 
axin’ to see you.” 


6 


GOMBO JOE FINDS A FOE 


Gombo Joe was a wiry black lad, fifteen or 
sixteen years old, who not long before had been 
promoted from the position of water-boy for the 
field gang to service in the limited home force 
under the direction of old Uncle Jason, head 
gardener and yardman. Gombo helped in light 
jobs around the grounds and the outlying vege- 
table garden. In the latter half of the afternoons 
he looked after and rounded up the hogs roam- 
ing in the woods and drove home belated cattle. 
This orphaned waiPs first name was given him 
derisively by grown “American’’ negroes be- 
cause of his speaking the quaint Creole-Negro 
French and its broken English dialect, while 
they particularly prided themselves on more 
correctly talking our national tongue. 

In his new place Gombo Joe soon became very 
much attached to Little Boss. He had been a 
lone young Ishmaelite of the negro quarters, 
subject to much abuse; then, to his amazement, 
he was treated by the white boy with kindness 
and even friendliness. There came to be a 
sympathetic bond between them, for both were 
born lovers of the woods and wilds and extremely 
fond of hunting. Thus Gombo was the most 
faithful henchman of Little Boss in all of the 


GOMBO JOE FINDS A FOE 7 

I 

many forest excursions and adventures in which 
he was permitted to share. 

Knowing that Gombo Joe’s request to see 
him at such an unusual hour signified that he 
bore important news, Little Boss quickly rose 
and hurried out of the back hall door. 

At first the light from the large hanging hall 
lamp which reached the bottom of the back steps 
through the open doorway was just sufficient to 
dimly disclose the roughly clad figure of the black 
boy standing with bare feet on the white, shell- 
paved walk at the foot of the steps, and that of 
a shaggy cur cowering for concealment close be- 
hind its owner in the deeper darkness of his 
shadow. 

The servant soon brought a lighted lantern 
and set it on the flat top rail of the porch ban- 
isters above the steps. At that sudden dis- 
closure of its presence on forbidden ground, by 
the brighter light, the crouching cur promptly 
forsook its overbold master, and fled in abject 
fright into the safe refuge of the outer darkness. 
The more radiant light lit up Gombo’s black face 
and gleaming white teeth, while it showed his 
right hand toying with the handle of a rawhide 
cow whip, and the toes of his right foot excitedly 


8 


GOMBO JOE FINDS A FOE 


digging in the white dust of the shell walk. Evi- 
dently Gombo was loaded with large tidings. 

“Hello, Gombo, what do you wish to see me 
about?” asked Little Boss, briskly descending 
the steps while he was speaking. 

“Good ebenin’. Little Boss : I comes to tell to 
you, me, I been find dat ole Madame Yallergate 
w’at been ketch oV Jack — an’ some peeg’, too 
— dose tarn I been los’ dat good dawg in de back 
part o’ de ’ood mos’ to de ma’sh.” 

“You don’t say so ?” interrupted the white boy. 

“Yas, I been tell dat to you t’ree wik back, 
how w’en I come home late I hears, far behine 
me in de ’ood, soon befo’ de dark, ole Jack howl 
like he hurt bad, yas. Sence dat long tarn, me 
an’ you we neb’ been see ole Jack no mo’. I been 
hont for heem in all de ’ood; still no Jack! But 
late dis ebe’, w’en I go look for some small stray 
peeg’ w’at git away two, t’ree day, I find dat 
place, me, where dat yallergate stay w’at been 
kill an’ eat op my bes’ coon-dog an’ — dat w’at I 
t’inks — dose stray peeg’, yas.” 

“Oh, wait, Gombo, until I call Bumble and 
Hopfrog to hear all of this. Come on out here, 
boys ! Gombo’s got a great big story for us all 1” 

When his two friends had burst out of the back 


GOMBO JOE FINDS A FOE 


9 


doorway and bounded down the steps four at a 
time, Little Boss excitedly demanded amid a storm 
of questions : 

“Now, Gombo, tell us how and where you found 
your alligator/’ 

‘‘I been find dat Madame Yallergate about dat 
same place where maybe my ole Jack make dat 
las’ long howl w’en he don’t foller me home. I 
t’inks, me, he stop to drink at dat small pawn 
where dat Madame Yallergate stay, an’ he git 
ketch dere dat tarn.” 

“How did you happen to find it, Gombo 

“Well, w’en I hont for dose stray peeg’ on my 
cowhoss, I pass op one small branch of de beeg 
Liveoak Bayou, mos’ where de bayou leave de ’ood 
for de ma’sh. Dat small branch it ron, lak it hide, 
onder much tick brush. It no more’n t’ree, four 
feets wide, an’ deep to my boss’ knee. Bimeby it 
stop in one wide, deep, black water hole, where on 
one side one beeg oak tree been make dat hole mo’ 
beeg by tearin’ op de groun’ w’en it blow down so 
long tarn back de bark it all gone an’ de tronk it be- 
gin to rot. Now dat water hole one small pawn.” 

“What next, Gombo.?” asked Bumble, as the 
narrator halted overlong to hunt up new words 
to fit his description. 


10 


GOMBO JOE FINDS A FOE 


“De nex*, fom my cowhoss I sees about one 
t’ousan’ yo’ng yallergate, too small to bite bad, 
sweem aroun’ in dat water. I starts to git down 
olF my boss to try ketch one to bring home. But 
quick I thinks better, me; maybe beeg Madame 
or Miche Yallergate at home. I bes’ see about 
dat; de sun mos’ down 

‘‘Oh, I hope they were at home, and that 
they’ll stay there until we can get there and 
fix them some way to-morrow!” exclaimed Little 
Boss. 

“Yas, I t’inks dat, me. I rides away little 
piece in de ’ood ; I gits down an’ hitches my boss. 
I crips back close to dat pawn quiet on my ban’s 
an’ knee’. I hides behine one tick boosh an’ 
makes one peep hole to look. Still lak one dead 
stump I wait ; I watch. No ole yallergate ! I 
makes in my froat some small gront lak one yo’ng 
peeg. I been see stray peeg track stop on dat 
bank. I makes some mo’ gront. Den I sees de 
water close by dat udder bank show — blub- 
blub-blub-blub ; an’ den, slow, come op de black 
snout an’ de beeg heye of Madame Yallergate; 
or dat one I t’inks me. I make some mo’ small 
peeg-gront’, an’ dat beeg head lif’ high in de 
water to look an’ lissen mo’ good. Dat head it 


GOMBO JOE FINDS A FOE 


II 


so long lak mah laig ! He one beeg, heeg Madame 
Yallergate, yas !” 

“Oh, how I wish we had been there with you !” 
loudly lamented the three listeners. 

“De sun he go down; de ’ood fall still lak it 
lissen to hear de dark come. One ole Howl he 
call ‘hoo-hoo-hoo-hooah’ ; an’, me, I t’inks it 
tarn to slip quiet back to my boss an’ come home. 
But I rides slow to make up in my head one good 
plan for me an’ you to ketch dat beeg ole yaller- 
gate an’ dose yo’ng yallergate alive an’ sell dem 
for some money.” 

Filled with rapturous excitement, the three 
white boys and Gombo Joe walked around to 
the front of the house and settled down on one 
of the lawn benches to hold a council of war for 
the capture of that destructive alligator. There, 
undisturbed in the outer-darkness, they earnestly 
discussed their campaign plans until a long be- 
lated bedtime; and at last they very reluctantly 
retired, resolved to carry them out on the morrow. 


II 

MOVING DAY FOR AN 
ALLIGATOR FAMILY 


S ATURDAY morning, very soon after a seven 
o’clock breakfast, a happy and highly ex- 
cited cavalcade started from the horse rack 
near the house on a hostile visit to Madam Alli- 
gator and her numerous and promising family at 
their home in the wilderness. 

The joyous and noisy departure of the Bird- 
land Boy Scouts was preceded by repeated anxious 
warnings and forebodings from the mother and 
sister of their leader. His father laughed at such 
feminine fears, and only admonished the adven- 
turous youngsters to be extremely careful, if they 
happened to encounter a grown alligator, to keep 
well out of the way of the ferocious reptile’s terrible 
tusks and dangerous tail. The boys had pre- 
viously told him of their plans of attack, which 
had met with his full and admiring approval. 


12 


MOVING DAY FOR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 13 

Little Boss, commanding the squad, mounted 
on his Mexican bronco, bore over his shoulder a 
formidable looking boat hook, borrowed from his 
father’s sailboat. The handle of the boat hook 
was stouter and longer than that of an armored 
Crusader’s spear. Hanging to his saddle horn 
was a long and neatly coiled lariat of new hempen 
rope, while shorter lengths of similar cordage were 
attached to the two rings at the back of his saddle. 
Thus armed and equipped, he appeared to be the 
composite of a young cavalryman with a lance, 
and a cowboy with a lasso. 

Bumble, riding a small calico pony, closely 
followed the leader. He carried over his right 
shoulder a keenly sharp garden spade, which had 
been recently provided with a handle fully twice 
the regular length. Hopfrog, perched on a high 
piebald horse, bore in the same manner only such 
a harmless looking weapon as a long-handled 
crab net with a bag as large as a bushel measure. 

Gombo Joe was the most picturesque member 
of this squad. With an empty corn sack for his 
saddle he bestrode a stout and stumpy old black 
mule that had been long enjoying age-retirement 
from active field service. With vociferous praise, 
mingled with severe reproach, and thumping 


14 MOVING DAY FQR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 


heels, he urged that venerable and stubborn beast, 
“ole Bill-Mule to close up the rear of the march- 
ing file. No interested spectator understood why 
Combo’s mule was wearing on this woodland 
excursion the complete harness gear for plow- 
pulling or cart-hauling, with his trace chains 
closely coiled around the tops of the hames. 
Neither did old Bill himself, who sulkily resented 
this unreasonable return to cast-ofF trappings. 

After emerging from the back gate of the 
mansion grounds, this spirited little troop made 
its first short halt on the side of the middle field 
road before the plow shed. There Combo Joe 
dismounted, nimbly as a monkey, uncoiled his 
mule’s trace chains, and hooked them by a single- 
tree to the iron ringbolt of a “plow-slide.” This 
is a primitive kind of sled, made of an extra wide 
plank ten or twelve feet long and two or three 
inches thick, with a strong ringbolt fastened to a 
stiff crossbeam in front for its hauling connection. 
It is used to haul the very heavy plows employed 
on the sugar plantations to and from the fields 
to avoid their scarring and gouging the well-kept 
wagon roads. 

With the completion of this final preparation 
for the march into the forest against the fierce 


MOVING DAY FOR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 15 


reptile foe of lost dogs and stray hogs, Gombo 
actively remounted and thumped up his mule, 
and the young horsemen, with a wild parting 
whoop, turned to the right down the forest road 
for the wilderness. 

A straggling string of wondering and bewildered 
curs, evidently suspicious and distrustful, fol- 
lowed the boys at what they doubtfully deemed 
a safe distance. Starting out hunting in that 
astonishing manner was without precedent and 
beyond their understanding. Most of them 
halted on the way to consider the question, and 
judged it safer and wiser to turn back homeward. 
But a few others followed on, as if encouraged 
by the hope that this strange hunt might have a 
happy ending despite its unheard-of beginning. 

After frequent detentions to free old Bill’s 
trace chains from entangling vines and under- 
brush, under Gombo Joe’s accurate guidance, the 
party reached the alligator pool before the middle 
of the forenoon. Heedless of frightening one or 
both of the grown alligators into their deeply 
submerged hiding hole or den, the boys rode 
noisily right up to the brink of the pool. They 
had come prepared for a prompt reptilian retreat. 
The main question with them was as to whether 


1 6 MOVING DAY FOR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 


Gombo Joe’s ‘‘beeg Madame Yallergate” had 
remained at home, or was absent in the bayou 
or bordering marshes on a food foray. In that 
latter event, they would have to postpone their 
visit to another day. 

But, as soon as they arrived, they loudly 
cheered with delight at finding convincing evidence 
that she was at home and had dived into her den. 
They could confidently count on the alligator 
being the more wicked and murderous female, 
as the male is a free rover in the summer. On 
the low nearer edge of the pool they saw a long, 
foot-wide trace of muddy slush from which the 
ooze was slowly slipping back into the water; 
and the strong scent of alligator musk still re- 
mained in the air. Evidently Madame Alligator 
had been lying there lazily sunning herself only 
a few minutes before, when she was alarmed by 
the noise of their near approach. Next they all 
noted the rising of numerous bubbles and the 
moving of tiny whirlpools above the mouth of 
the submerged hole under the opposite bank. 

“Madame Yallergate’s dar! He’s dar for 
sure!” shouted Gombo Joe, jumping up and 
down and jabbering. “See dose blub-blub-blub 
w’at he blow.? Now we goin’ talk wid you. 


MOVING DAY FOR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 17 

Madame Yallergate; w’at you done wid my ole 
dog Jack ; how you lak dose fat plantashun peeg^ ? 
we goin’ to ax you all dat, yas !” 

The boys rode hastily back a short distance in 
the woods, hitched their mounts, and quietly 
walked back to the pool for further inspection. 

After remaining a while motionless and silent 
on the brink, they saw numerous ripples on the 
surface of the water, and then a dozen or more - 
hideous, big-eyed little alligator heads popped up 
here and there and gazed at them with wondering 
and greedy interest, as if they fancied that such 
very large frogs would make very fine eating. 

The pool was almost round and about twenty 
feet wide. Having been in use very long, and en- 
larged during many years by its ancient possessor’s 
claws, it was much larger than those usually found 
at the mouths of alligator holes. With banks not 
more than a foot above its water, it had made a 
commodious and undiscovered home for count- 
less alligator families hatched from large leathery 
eggs in sun-heated mounds of rotting marsh grass 
in the near-by marshes. Grown alligators usually 
dig their hiding and wintering holes beneath the 
banks of marsh runlets, ponds, or lagoons, with 
a sharp descent from their entrance. Such re- 


1 8 MOVING DAY FOR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 


treats often have two mouths, and are shaped 
like a great letter Y. Their tunnels are seldom 
more than twice the length of their diggers ; and 
where the reptiles lie, in the remote ends, they 
are no wider than the stretch of their occupants’ 
short, thick, and strong legs. Alligators always 
retire backward, and crouch in their holes, so as 
to have their formidable jaws ready for food or 
fight. 

“Now, boys, let’s get busy,” proposed Little 
Boss, “Gombo, you go and get the spade, back 
there where Bumble left it. Bumble, you and 
Hopfrog might as well wait here for a while. I’ll 
go around to the opposite side of the pool up to 
the roots of the fallen oak, directly above the 
sunken mouth of the alligator’s deep den as near 
as I can guess.” 

As Little Boss reached the desired spot, Gombo 
joined him with the sharp spade, cleared away 
the rotten oak roots and covering ground creepers 
for a space of several feet back from the brink of 
the pool, and cut down the fringe of bushes over- 
hanging the wide mouth of the hole. He then 
straightened that part of the bank by digging a 
clean cut about two yards across, doing this 
quickly by prying the loosened dirt down into 


MOVING DAY FOR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 19 

the water. Thus, under careful direction, he 
made a safe foothold for a contemplated attack 
on the alligator from above, with a clear field 
for action. When this was done he was told : 

“Now go and cut me the longest of those green 
fishing-pole canes, growing over there toward the 
marsh, and Til send in my visitingcard to Madame 
Alligator; and Tm sure it will find her at home.” 

In a minute Gombo was back with a slender 
giant reed more than twenty feet long, ready for 
use. Taking it in his right hand. Little Boss 
leaned cautiously over the mouth of the hole, 
thrust this supple sounding rod down into it, 
and slowly pushed it inward and downward. 
About half the length of the reed had been thus 
thrust into the reptile’s retreat when it received 
a vicious wrench and was violently ejected. 

“She’s there! He’s dar! He’s dar! She’s 
there all right!” rose in exultant shouts, as the 
rod was withdrawn, held up for inspection with 
its butt joint crushed, and cast aside. 

“Now bring me the boat hook and the long 
rope,” was the next order. 

Gombo bounded over low bushes and briars, 
rushed to the tree where the bronco was hitched, 
grasped the boat hook hanging on one of its limbs, 


20 MOVING DAY FOR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 


lifted the coiled lariat from the saddle horn, and 
fell desperately to work with fingers and teeth 
fastening the rope to the boat-hook handle. 
Around the stout and tough ashen handle he 
looped a dozen turns of the line in what boatmen 
call a ‘‘siezin’-hitch ”, which holds the tighter 
the harder it is pulled. After testing this fasten- 
ing with tugs of his full strength, he ran back to 
the scene of operations, carrying the boat hook in 
one hand and paying out the attached rope be- 
hind him with the other. On receiving the boat 
hook. Little Boss directed the boys across the 
pool : 

“Now get ready for real business, boys; I be- 
lieve our fun is about to begin. Hopfrog, you 
and Bumble haul in the slack of the rope passing 
half around the pool, and Gombo, you go there 
too, to give them a helping hand.” 

Making sure of his foothold. Little Boss then 
very slowly and carefully lowered the long, steel- 
armed shaft, hook downward, into the sunken 
den beneath him until it touched a hard alligator 
snout. 

There was another vengeful snap and violent 
tug, at which the boy promptly let go the stiff* 
boat-hook handle to avoid the risk of being 


MOVING DAY FOR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 2I 

plunged into unpleasant waters, and leaped well 
back from the brink of the pool. As the loosed 
handle continued to wobble, he wildly shouted : 

“Pull away, boys, pull hard! Haul away for 
all you are worth ! She has grabbed the hook 
and made herself fast ! Hold the line taut so 
she can’t get any slack to get loose ! Haul away 
and land her 1” 

Then he ran rapidly around the pool to bear a 
hand, and all four boys hauled their hardest and 
best. But the most they could do was to hold the 
swaying boat-hook handle straight, with the rope 
stretched taut. With all of their “all together, 
bullies” and “yo-heave-hos”, they could not 
budge the big alligator an inch ; and that stubborn 
beast could not eject the unbarbed hook from its 
under-jaw hold. The sulky creature very firmly 
refused to come forth, being resistantly braced 
with strong clawed feet against the rough sides 
of the deep and narrow den. 

This tremendous tug of war continued hope- 
lessly for nearly half an hour. It was warm work 
in summer weather ; and the vain struggle caused 
the boys to shed floods of perspiration. Then a 
grand idea suddenly struck Gombo Joe, and he 
promptly panted it out. 


22 MOVING DAY FOR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 


“ Hoi’ on to heem tight, young gemmans. Keep 
de rope stretch’ so he don’t git away, no; me, I 
go bring ole Beel-mule to beat heem pull, yas !” 

This proposition was indorsed with an en- 
thusiastic yell of approval ; and Gombo rushed 
into the woods to get his reliable mule. Old Bill 
was thumped wide awake from his restful slumber, 
his harness was hastily thrown on, and he was 
hauled up. A bight of the slack rope lying be- 
hind the boys was hitched to his singletree; and, 
with a prod in his hairier side, his resourceful 
driver sharply commanded : 

“Git op, you Beel !” 

In response to that unwelcome command, the 
sleepy old mule lazily leaned forward to the un- 
known strain with a deep protesting groan. 
Finding unexpected resistance, he shook his 
head, squatted a little lower, dug his hoofs a little 
deeper in the damp ground, groaned with greater 
dissent, and fulled! 

The tightened rope became thinner with the 
strain. Then a storm of whoops and yells startled 
the silent forest : 

“Bill has got our alligator going! Git op, 
Beel I Dar he comes 1 Oh, you Bill 1 Oh, you 
big alligator !” 



Dar lie comes ! Oli^ you Bill ! Oh, you big alligator ! ” Page 22, 




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MOVING DAY FOR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 23 

The hauling in of the rope was soon followed 
by a furious commotion in the hitherto quiet 
pool. On its surface, with violent struggles, 
floundered a huge reptilian monster, wrathfully 
flailing the water with its great flat tail, splashing 
its spray over the surrounding ground, and hissing 
like a python in its rage at its vain resistance 
to the dragging rope. 

The three horses, hitched in the woods just out 
of view of the terrible disturbance, pawed and 
snorted with fright at the great noise of the row. 
The few curs that had conquered their mistrust 
and come along to the woods, having become dis- 
gusted that the boys refused to hunt coons and 
rabbits, were lying asleep in the shade of the 
nearest trees. Suddenly awakened by that tre- 
mendous tumult, and beholding that black and 
yellow monster near them raging in the midst of 
a mud and water volcano, their worst suspicions 
of the morning were far more than fully verified, 
and they frantically fled homeward, with Gombo 
shouting derisively after them : 

‘‘Oh, yas, you was slow to come here; but now 
you goes home by de tillygraph !” 

But, perfectly indifiPerent to the noise and at- 
tendant excitement, and heedless as fate concern- 


24 MOVING DAY FOR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 

ing what he hauled, as long as it followed, old 
Bill walked slowly and steadily on his forestward 
way. As a hundred feet behind him his victim 
was dragged ashore, the alligator slapped the 
pool a resounding farewell salute with its tail, 
which must have awakened all of the noon sleepers 
of the forest for a mile around. As the furious 
captive was being hauled into the woods, the 
delighted boys danced along in triumph beside 
it beyond the reach of its swinging tail. The 
hauling rope held its tusked head harmless for, 
as was expected, the boat hook had pierced through 
the tough skin of the reptile’s lower jaw when it 
was savagely grasped in the den ; but the resulting 
pain was probably relatively very much less than 
that suffered by a boy whose bad tooth is pulled. 

The big brute was hauled into the woods, until 
its great strength was exhausted, it stopped its 
useless struggles, and its ferocity was temporarily 
subdued. At all events it was dragged far enough 
for the subsequent proceedings; for it could not 
be hauled all the way home thus without unneces- 
sary suffering, and probably mortal injury from 
knocks against stumps and roots. 

Thus a halt was ordered ; old Bill was backed 
to slack the rope ; then the boat hook dropped out 


MOVING DAY FOR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 25 


of the bony bottom jaw, and the captured alli- 
gator lay in its original condition and rough cos- 
tume, practically unhurt, but too weary to offer 
further active battle. Then the boys took steps to 
carry their captive home in comfortable state. 
They had been told by professional alligator- 
hunters how to capture grown alligators in their 
holes with the pole and hook, and how to trans- 
port them over land without danger to themselves 
or injury to the reptiles. 

As the subdued brute lay sullenly still, a slip knot 
loop of the long rope was quietly passed over its 
knobby head with a forked pole ; the head was 
then hauled close up to the trunk of a small tree 
near-by and made fast to it by several turns. 
Next the dangerous tail was likewise secured by 
another noose slipped over its serrated end ; then 
with a hard haul of all hands, head, body, and 
tail were stretched out straight and harmless as 
a log on the dead leaves, and the tail-rope was 
tied to another tree. Thus it was an easy matter 
to muzzle the reptile’s long jaws with firmly 
fastened rope lashings. The wide plank plow- 
sled was then brought up close beside the lengthy 
brute, and with four ready levers the boys lifted 
and pushed its heavy body on to their sled, on 


26 MOVING DAY FOR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 


which they tightly bound it with lengths of short 
rope from the tip of its bony snout to within 
two feet of the end of its overlapping tail. And 
Madame Alligator was ready for a free ride through 
the forest and an introduction into civilized society 
without risk of her doing it the least harm with 
wide mouth or wagging tail. 

When this job was satisfactorily finished, the 
tired captors returned to the pool with the crab- 
net, and skillfully scooped out of it all of its too 
curious young alligators. As these were caught, 
they were dropped into Combo’s empty corn- 
sack saddle for a speculation he had in view. 

Finally Old Bill was hitched to the plow-sled 
to haul it home; and, mulelike, he made much 
better time with a load behind him toward the 
feed trough at midday then he had made without 
one leaving it in the morning. 

Shortly before dinnertime, with triumphant 
cheers, the proud boys rode back into the mansion 
grounds with their great prize drawn in the rear, 
followed by a swarm of chattering women and 
wide-eyed children from the negro quarters. 
With that excited throng Combo Joe was the 
hero of the day, as he rode the mule that hauled 
the alligator. 


MOVING DAY FOR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 27 

The safe return of the boys was hailed with 
great relief and joy unrestrained by the ladies of 
the house. They expressed satisfactory horror 
at the sight of the captive monster, and listened 
with due shudders to the savage hissing it was 
induced to make for their special benefit by re- 
peated proddings with the boat-hook-handle. 

After the grown alligator and the interesting 
young family had been proudly exhibited to all 
possible amazed and admiring spectators, they 
were given to Gombo Joe for his commercial 
speculation. 

The four boys found further great pleasure 
after dinner, spending most of the afternoon in 
boxing up their lengthy and unwieldy prize, then 
cutting its bonds through convenient openings, 
and shutting in all the family preparatory for 
their shipment to a dealer in reptiles and wild 
animals in New Orleans. After supper they 
hurried down to the steamboat landing to bid 
their alligator family a final farewell as it started 
on its travels, perhaps in menageries and shows to 
afford passing amusement to a million other 
American boys. 

A little later, on the arrival of the city-bound 
boat, Madame Alligator’s long box was lifted on 


28 MOVING DAY FOR AN ALLIGATOR FAMILY 

the shoulders of a dozen shouting and guffawing 
colored roustabouts and borne aboard to the 
music of a roaring steamboat chorus. 

A week after the moving-out of this alligator 
family, Gombo Joe grew suddenly rich enough to 
be regarded and envied as a millionaire among 
the many other colored boys of the plantation ; 
all from his lucky deal in “live yallergates.” 


Ill 

A FIERCE AND FAMOUS 
PAIR 


A fter watching the shipment of their 
captive alligators, the three boys re- 
turned to the house and rejoined the 
family group seated on the broad and breezy 
front gallery. 

In talking about the day’s adventure, Little 
Boss mentioned haying seen several unusually 
large marsh-lynx tracks in a muddy place far 
back in the woods. That started his father on 
a story about the habits and ways of the animal 
which he called the mo^t wicked of all the wild 
things living in the local woods and marshes. 
Most of the tale was founded on his own observa- 
tion of the creatures, and some of it on the experi- 
ence of professional hunters well known to him. 
When the boys had pulled up their chairs near 
enough not to miss a word of the tale, he began : 


29 


30 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


“Probably I should commence this story by giv- 
ing you boys a description of our Louisiana marsh 
lynx as accurately as I can from my point of view. 
Then I will tell you of the vicious behavior of 
a pair of these wildcats which became noted 
among market hunters and trappers and a few 
amateur sportsmen. In fact, these two cats 
became celebrated for their size, cunning, and 
ferocity. 

“The lynxes of our Louisiana coast marsh seem 
to be larger and fiercer than those of northern 
climes. Perhaps this is due to their semi-tropical 
surroundings; for most of the greater feline 
animals grow larger and more ferocious in the 
tropical jungles of India and Africa than their 
brother beasts of the more temperate regions of 
Asia. As a rule, the warmest countries seem to 
produce the worst big cats ; and our Canada 
lyhx and mountain bobcat appear to me quite 
ladylike pussies compared with our own marsh 
lynx. 

“Of course you boys know that our Creole 
hunters and trappers of the Gulf marsh call our 
big spotted lynx of that immense wilderness 
‘Tigre’, their French word for Tiger. As far 
back in the olden times as I can remember, they 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


31 


were always called ‘Tiger-Cats’ by our Ameri- 
can planters and Sportsmen. The negroes named 
them ‘Wilecats’, and very seldom hunted them, 
as they considered their chase entirely too dan- 
gerous to their highly over-valued coon and 
rabbit dogs. But most of our colored coon 
hunters are glad enough to eat such game when 
it is given them by white hunters who happen to 
kill it. 

Probably the very tigerlike head and ears of 
our Louisiana marsh lynx led to his being given 
those two local names, ‘Tigre’ and ‘Tiger 
Cat.’ His tawny forehead and face are streaked 
with dark brown stripes. His ears are not tufted, 
like those of the northern lynx, but are black at 
the bottom and have a band of white across the 
middle, closely resembling those of the tiger. 
And, as you boys have seen for yourselves, his 
countenance is relatively as vicious as that of 
his big royal cousin of distant Bengal. 

‘‘ Perhaps in looking at living or dead marsh 
lynxes you have observed that the tawny fur of 
their lank bodies and thick legs is dotted with 
black spots, and their short tails are banded with 
dark brown rings and tipped with black. These 
markings seem to vary in degree, and the bigger 


32 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


the beast, the more pronounced they are. But 
in looking at that sinewy and muscular creature, 
one notes particularly how powerfully it is built, 
and how well provided it is with formidable teeth 
and claws to capture its animal prey or to fight 
in defense of its own life. And one can thus ap- 
preciate the force of the description ‘he can 
whip his weight in wildcats’, when applied to 
a plucky and pugnacious man or boy. 

‘‘The largest of our lynxes are as tall as a good- 
sized deerhound ; but their bodies are longer and 
leaner, and their forelegs thicker and heavier than 
any hound’s. These cats are most numerous in 
our Gulf marsh where they can procure abundant 
food and at the same time remain almost safe 
from human pursuit. There are several thousand 
square miles of this dreary wilderness in this 
State. Much of it is at so low a level that it is 
almost daily inundated by the very slight high 
tides of the Gulf. But a large amount of the 
area contains remarkable floating marshes, which 
rise and fall with the limited tides and remain 
at all times free of surface water. That floating 
marsh is formed of immense rafts of rotted and 
decaying vegetable matter closely compacted into 
a damp, peaty material. There are many tracts 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


33 


of this floating marsh, measuring from a few acres 
to many square miles in area. They are only a 
few feet thick, resting on lakes of liquid ooze, and 
rising or lowering as these concealed lakes fill with 
the sluggish flood or drain with the ebbtide. 

These strange floating lands are very densely 
covered with vegetation. On their fertile rotting 
soil grow level stretches of waist-high marsh grass, 
brakes of towering tule reeds, giant rushes, and 
hundreds of other semi-aquatic plants. The 
only semblance of trees that such a foundation 
is firm enough to support are thickets of man- 
groves, with roots like millions of black, inter- 
twined serpents lying on the marsh surface, and 
dwarfish marsh-bay trees. 

‘‘ Most of these treacherous floating marshes are 
too dangerous for the passage of men ; but they 
are firm enough to furnish a safe footing for 
thousands of marsh hares or rabbits, minks, 
coons, and lynxes. The marsh lynxes never 
mind getting their feet wet; in fact they might 
be called amphibious cats. They take to water 
as willingly as any oriental tiger, wade in shallow 
lagoons, or swim over wide, deep bayous, follow- 
ing their prey, to escape pursuing dogs, or in 
flight from the fierce marsh fires of winter. 


34 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


‘‘Through the solid marshes run many long and 
narrow ridges of hard dry soil built on the banks 
of sluggish bayous from the silt deposit of past 
ages. Most of these comparative ridges are 
covered with forests of live oaks; hence the 
French-speaking hunters of long-ago named them 
‘Chenieres’, their word for oak woods. Thus 
we still have ‘Cheniere aux Tigres’, ‘Grande 
Cheniere', ‘Cheniere Hermitage’, or — translated 
into English — Wildcat, Great, and Hermit Oak- 
woods. In such remote forests most of our marsh 
lynxes are born and take refuge from the swollen 
tides sweeping over the low marshes before furious 
Gulf hurricanes. 

“On the marshes all other wild animal and 
waterfowl life is sacrificed to their hunger or their 
hatred ; for these savage cats possess a human- 
like propensity for killing game merely for the 
lust or the sport of killing. Seeing as well in the 
darkness of night as they can in daylight, they 
stealthily stalk and slay mallards, teal, pintails, 
and other ducks sleeping and feeding in shallow 
marsh pools; and they kill every kind of four- 
footed creature, from rabbits to full-grown deer. 
To show that they murder wild creatures weaker 
than themselves from sheer wickedness, one may 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


35 


sometimes find in the marshes a freshly slaughtered 
victim of theirs, torn by their teeth and left unde- 
voured, or even untasted, after its death. Larger 
tracks at the scene of the tragedy would tell the 
name of the slayer. But evidently he or she did 
not happen to be hungry just then, and had gone 
olF to do further killing until a better appetite was 
aroused and satisfied. Silent-footed, cunning, and 
ferocious as they are, the quarry that they hunt 
seldom escapes these prowlers of the marshes. 

“Now, after this long introduction, I will try 
to entertain you with a history of the career of a 
pair of these lynxes, part of which I learned from 
reliable professional hunters, and some of which 
came directly under my personal observation. 

‘‘The Tom Lynx of this tale was born in the 
dark and roomy hollow of a huge live oak tree 
in the middle of the ‘Cheniere aux Tigres’, or 
Wildcat Oak Woods. That giant oak, which was 
decaying and dying of old age, stood alone, or 
well removed from its more sturdy and vigorous 
fellows of the gloomy forest. Nobody lived in 
this lonely wood, which loomed darkly above a 
dreary wide waste of Gulf marsh like a silent sea ; 
and it was rarely visited even by roaming pro- 
fessional hunters. 


36 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


“Wild Tom was the largest and liveliest of a 
litter of four very ugly-looking kittens, which, a 
few weeks after their birth. Mother Lynx began 
to feed with tender young marsh rabbits as a 
strengthening addition to their first infantile diet. 
Then later came a day, much to their kittenish 
delight, when she returned home, purring hoarsely 
and happily, with a full-grown marsh hare in her 
mouth. That poor creature was still living when 
she dropped it on the ground before her little 
ones; but it had been sufiiciently crippled in its 
capture to prevent its running away from them. 

“The highly excited kittens spat and growled 
at the helpless, wounded rabbit, and worried it 
until their hunger became so keen that their 
kind mother showed them how a rabbit should 
be caught, killed, skinned, and carved properly 
for a meal. After that first lesson they very 
soon learned how to handle such meat without 
maternal help, while Mother Lynx looked on, 
proudly purring her approval of their progress. 

“Then, one day, they were greatly surprised 
and gladdened by their Mother’s arrival with a 
new and unknown creature which had sharp 
shining teeth, short round ears, and a wonderful 
long tail with rings around it ; and they fancied 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


37 


that tail would make the finest kind of a toy. 
This strange captive was a plucky young coon, 
which was a little larger even than biggest Brother 
Tom. The recently caught coon had been but 
slightly hurt, only enough to make its warm tem- 
per hotter, when it was dropped among the happy 
and curious kittens, which promptly pounced on 
this very interesting prize. 

“In the resulting mussy, fussy, whirling mix- 
up that followed, they found this new victim 
very interesting indeed ; and the scratching, bit- 
ing, yelling, and squalling that went with this 
kind of fun was not nearly as enjoyable as they 
had expected it to be. Three of the kittens 
dropped the game much more eagerly than they 
had begun it, hastily fled into their hollow near 
at hand, and hid in that dark refuge, wailing with 
their first taste of bodily pain. 

“But big Brother Tom was much braver and 
fiercer than the others : he pluckily stayed with 
the coon and took the punishment he was getting 
from very busy claws and teeth. Seeing that 
her favorite son was receiving such a mauling. 
Mother Lynx started up angrily to stop the 
combat with a fatal tap on the top of the young 
coon’s head. But, in the lively scuffling, Coony 


38 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


had cunningly worked back to the thickest and 
thorniest bushes closely surrounding the wild 
clearing; and, as Mother Lynx leaped at him 
with uplifted paw, he wriggled under that tangled 
undergrowth and slipped away from trouble, as 
silently as a departing shadow. 

“Screaming with rage. Mother Lynx dashed 
after him in a great bound against the dense 
thorny growth, only to have her big body thrown 
backward. Then, through one of her regular 
pathways, she rushed around the thicket to head 
olF the fugitive and tear him to pieces. No 
hunter knows any other animal near its size that 
can get away from danger more silently, mys- 
teriously, and completely than a coon in thick 
cover; and, in this instance, our young hero 
showed the cunning and had the luck of his kind. 
He was safely gone; and at last enraged Mother 
Lynx returned from her vain pursuit, mumbling 
and grumbling, to scold and cufF her bewildered 
and suffering kittens for letting their prey escape. 

“From that day, scratched and scarred as he 
was. Brother Tom was the boss of the family; 
and he began to bully the other three kittens and 
even his mother at will. But even he was 
frightened until his fur rose by one hoarse yowl 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


39 


from Father Lynx, not far away In the woods, 
which sent the other kittens into their dark 
hollow in terror. They had never seen that 
other fond parent, which was so far probably 
fortunate for them ; as it is alleged that their mates 
never permit father lynxes to come home to visit 
their families while their children are very young, 
because they are likely to kill them, as tame tom- 
cats often do, from jealousy at their taking up too 
much of their mother’s time and affection. 

‘‘When her kittens were nearly half-grown, a 
few days after they had their sport with the 
captured coon. Mother Lynx decided that they 
might risk meeting their father. Therefore, one 
fine moonlight night, when he yowled nearer 
home than usual, she wauled back to him that he 
might come on up to the oak hollow and become 
acquainted with his four handsome youngsters. 
He promptly accepted her invitation and proudly 
stalked into the moonlit playground, pleasantly 
purring an all-around greeting; then he saluted 
his mate with a deeper mumbling in his throat and 
took closer note of his nervous children. Three 
of them, held a moment by intense curiosity, 
tarried just long enough for one look at him, then 
fled in terror to the back of their dark bedroom, 


40 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


and there huddled together with outward-turned 
faces and eyes blinking and shining like six great 
glowworms. 

“But bold Brother Tom did not budge; and 
Father Lynx fixed his attention admiringly on 
him, fondly sniffing him over and nuzzling him. 
When that bad-tempered son resented such 
familiarity with a spit, a spiteful growl, and a 
smart slap in the paternal face. Father Lynx 
loudly purred with delight and pride, and Mother 
Lynx as happily and proudly purred back at him 
in their own language. 

“‘Isn’t he just a genuine chip of the old block 

“After that Father Lynx loafed at home as it 
suited him; and soon, one at a time, the three 
timid children of the family disappeared perma- 
nently, on different nights, when Mother Lynx 
had gone hunting to get rabbits for her ‘baby 
buntings ’ to skin. For a time she mourned 
over these lamentable and mysterious losses ; but 
Father Lynx bore such family bereavements with 
silent fortitude, and gave no sign that he had 
sensibly reduced the size of the family circle. 
The single surviving son prospered the more for 
that reduction, as he had two famous hunters 
to feed him ; and he soon began to show that he 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


41 


had inherited their talents by capturing, tor- 
menting and killing such small game as woodrats, 
ground squirrels, and muskrats. 

“At last Tom’s parents considered him large 
enough to be led out into the marshes and taught 
how to hunt rabbits. In his first rabbit hunt he 
had the time of his life. When they reached the 
hunting ground, they first showed him how to 
hide closely in a thick bunch of marsh grass 
bordering a much used rabbit runway; and they 
told him, as we say in human speech : ‘All things 
come to him who waits.’ 

“When son Tom was satisfactorily set for the 
fatal spring, they silently left him and separated 
to circle in different directions for a joint rab- 
bit drive. They soon ‘jumped’ and rounded up 
several madly scared marsh rabbits, one or two 
of which ran in the right direction. The first 
of these frightened fugitives, heeding only the 
danger behind, fled down the narrow runway 
guarded by the hidden young wildcat. Young 
Tom thrilled with excitement as he saw it come 
bouncing along toward him, and, as it was pass- 
ing, pounced on it like an old paw at the game. 
The sudden clutch of his claws was followed by the 
quick paw-stroke; and, with gloating eyes and 


42 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


quivering whiskers, he stooped growling over his first 
big marsh hare kill ! A minute later he was proudly- 
receiving his parents’ praises ; and they correctly 
predicted that in due course of time he would 
become the most famous Killer of the marshes. 

‘‘Before young Tom was a year old he left 
home to hunt on his own account and look out 
for himself in the world ; and, wherever he tarried 
awhile in his wide roamings, the rabbit popula- 
tion might have been exterminated but for the 
excessive near-monthly birth rate of their inter- 
esting families. 

“Tom had a long memory for the terrible maul- 
ing he received from that captured coon ; and it 
made him a coon killer from pure deviltry. As 
has been stated in the introduction to this story. 
Uncle Jason claims to know what became of that 
plucky and lucky coon that whipped the lynx 
kittens and escaped. I do not ; although we 
both saw the scene of the battle, the tufts of 
wildcat fur and coon hair scattered on the ground, 
the tracks of the fleeing coon, and the large pads 
of pursuing Mother Lynx : all of which he pre- 
tended to read like a story out of a book. But 
let me get back to my story : 

“Ere his second birthday, Tom aspired to hunt 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


43 


really big game and was again successful in his 
first attack on a spotted fawn, which had been 
left closely hidden by its mother when she went 
off to graze. Having thus developed a taste for 
venison, he longed to slay a full-grown deer. 
Given the chance, he felt that he could overcome 
a doe, or even a mature buck armed with dangerous 
horns, if attacked from a limb above. 

“Having grown to an exceptional size, with a 
gay spotted coat. Wild Tom decided that it was 
time for him to be looking around for a congenial 
mate. Then, from dusk until dawn, he roamed 
over the wide marshes and wooded ridges, yowl- 
ing and wauling nocturnes very much louder and 
hoarser than the serenades of our tame tomcats. 
He soon met and won a mate as fierce and wicked 
as himself ; and the pair became the terror of the 
marshes and chenieres, robbing fur traps, stealing 
dead and destroying living game, killing young 
deer, and even night-raiding hunters’ and trap- 
pers’ camps. They were often cursed but never 
caught, for they were as elusive as ghosts. The 
cunning tricks and cruel deeds of those two lynxes 
would require a large book for their telling. But 
I have only time enough to relate two or three 
incidents of their careers. 


44 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


‘‘Late one autumn afternoon big Wild Tom 
lay lazily stretched on the lowest gray limb of 
a spreading live oak which stood on the marsh- 
ward edge of ‘Hermitage Cheniere.’ He was 
napping, with one eye open for prey or for danger. 
From that elevated position he caught a glimpse 
of the head and neck of a large doe grazing in the 
marsh a quarter of a mile from the forest. In the 
softer twilight he would have seen the deer sooner 
than he did against the dazzling glare of the de- 
clining sun. The tall marsh grass hid the deer’s 
body, but not its head and neck, which it lifted 
now and then from cropping the tender bottom 
grass to look down the wind for the approach of 
any possible danger. 

“Making sure of the doe’s position, down to 
the ground leaped Mr. Lynx, summoned his mate 
to his side with a low yowl, and with purred 
mutterings told her about his fortunate find. 
Then the pair held a further consultation over 
plans of attack, which they decided to carry out 
at once without waiting for the dusk and the 
probable departure of the deer. 

“Together they stole from the woods into the 
marsh, with the faint wind in their favor, and, 
side by side, began their stealthy stalk, stopping 



They bounded over the tall marsh grass on to the back and shoulders 
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A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


4S 


a moment within whisker-touching distance of 
each other every few steps. Noiselessly as the 
night moves over the marshes they went on, with 
their lank bodies crouched close to the ground 
and carefully picking their way with their padded 
feet to avoid breaking a brittle dead reed or 
stirring a tall rush enough to betray their presence 
and progress. When their twitching noses told 
them they were near enough to their unsuspecting 
prey, they stopped together, crouched still lower, 
and gathered their legs under them for the long 
attacking leap. Then, with a loud scream meant 
to momentarily paralyze their victim with sudden 
terror, they bounded over the tall marsh grass on 
to the back and shoulders of the doomed doe. 

“The deer stood still but an instant, as if be- 
wildered by the shock of this terrible attack; 
then it bounded madly about to throw off its 
clinging assailants, bawling with fear and pain 
exactly as a yearling calf bawls at the burning 
agony of the branding-iron. 

“Then happened the most amazing and in- 
credible thing ever heard of in those marsh wilds. 
It was told me by a professional hunter who lacked 
the necessary imagination or mental ability to 
invent it — a man with whom I have often hunted 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


46 

and camped out and have known for years, and 
have found always truthful. Probably it would 
be more interesting described in his own words : 

‘‘‘Dat day when de sun he be about one hour 
high,’ said he, M land in my pirogue at de bank 
of de bayou what pass trew Cheniere Hermitage. 
I take my gun an’ cross dat cheniere till I comes 
to de ma’sh ; dere I stops, an’, wid my feets an’ 
my ban’s I walks a little ways op one leanin’ 
willow tree to look for deers. Soon I see one 
beeg doe not so far in de ma’sh. It no see me, 
an’ Stan’ still to feed ; an’ I come quick down 
dat tree an’ pick op my gun for go shoot dat 
deer an’ drag it to my boat to take back to my 
camp. I find de win’ right, an’ walks fas’ todes 
dat deer at firs’ ; but, soon, I goes slow an’ stoops 
low to hide my head, only sometam I peep op 
wid my heye’. When I git about halfway to 
where it stan’ I hear, straight befo’ me, some 
‘"tigres” holler loud. Quick I lif’s op my head 
to look ; an’ — Mon Dieu ! what dat I see .? — 
Two big ‘Tigres” on top dat doe; an’ it jomp 
high dis way, dat way, an’ holler loud, too, all 
de tarn ! 

“‘I rons hard as I could in dat t’ick grass to 
shoot dose two “tigres”: I t’ink for sho’ dey 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


47 


de two what troub’ all us chasseurs (hunters), so 
long tarn : an’ dat make me go still mo’ fas’. 
When I come close enough to shoot, dey pull 
down dat deer on de groun’; an’, befo’ I can 
git dere to see dem so low, dey hear me come : 
an’, quick, dey rons off two ways in de high t’ick 
grass. Boom ! — boom ! I shoots for one an’ 
de tudder low, by de movin’ grass ; but no use ; 
dat tall grass too t’ick. 

‘“Den come somet’ing what I nevair been see, 
me, in all de many yeah I been hont deers : dat 
po’ doe jomp op f’om de groun’ an’ ron to me 
an’ hide it head onder my arm to be save’ f’om 
dose “tigres !” It come for help to one man who 
been kill too many deers to count ! Oh, dat make 
me feel bad ! I would do my bes’ to save it ; but 
dem “tigres” had hurt it to die; an’ it soon fall 
at my feet an’ solFer no mo’ ; an’ I go slow back 
to my pirogue an’ paddle to my cabanage.’ 

“The female of this pair of lynxes, after a long 
season of immunity, received overdue punish- 
ment through becoming too lazy to hunt for a 
living. One of her ways of getting meals without 
work was to hang around market hunters and 
sportsmen who were shooting ducks from blinds 
on the bayou banks, and hide in the dense marsh 


48 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


growth, waiting to get a good share of the game. 
Many of the dead or winged ducks thus shot from 
passing flocks fall into the marsh : and, before 
the hunter stopped shooting to gather them, the 
waiting wildcat would steal them, carry them oflF 
a short distance, repeatedly return for more, and 
devour them later. 

“One morning a hunter who was accompanied 
by Uncle Jason as boat-paddler dropped a dead 
mallard on a bare patch of closely burnt marsh 
where a fire had been extinguished by rain soon 
after being started. The duck had hardly fallen 
when greedy Madam Lynx boldly stepped from 
the thick cover in plain view and rashly attempted 
to take it. She was very deliberate and indifferent 
to consequences ; but a buckshot shell hastily 
slipped into the gun-breech abruptly ended her 
days. 

“Big Tom enjoyed a few more years of wicked- 
ness. Growing tired of wild game, he would 
sometimes change his range to the forests in the 
rear of the sugar plantations, whence at night he 
raided poultry roosts, pig lots, and sheepfolds. 
Uncle Jason can tell you more than I of such 
depredations. 

“In his ramblings near the river Tom Lynx 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 49 

committed an unheard of wildcat crime which 
amazed its human witnesses. In his travels be- 
tween the marshes and the woods he kept unusual 
feline hours. Thus, at midday one mild winter 
day, he happened to pass near a steam dredger 
which was digging a deep drainage canal be- 
hind a large sugar plantation, in the marsh near 
the forest. Curiosity, or the smell of cooking 
meat, prompted him to stealthily and closely 
approach that boat, in which the crew had stopped 
work for their noon dinner. The boat was moored 
sidewise against the bank of the canal level with 
the marsh, all of the excavated earth having been 
dumped on the opposite bank. 

“Invisible and silent in the thick growth, the 
inquisitive prowler crept nearer and nearer to 
take a good look at this great strange object with 
several hated men lounging and smoking on its 
upper fore deck. Much nearer him, on the stern 
deck, he beheld a large pet tomcat, lying comfort- 
ably dozing in the sunshine, all unconscious of the 
close proximity of his huge cousin of the wilds. 

“Then, suddenly, the men on the upper deck 
were startled at seeing the immense wildcat rush 
from its cover, bound aboard the boat, seize their 
sleeping tomcat before it had time to turn, and 


50 


A FIERCE AND FAMOUS PAIR 


make off in the marsh with its squalling victim 
grasped in its jaws. 

“Loud shouts and a general rush for a loaded 
shotgun were of no avail : for, before such weapon 
could be brought from the cabin, cat captor and 
cat captive were out of sight and hearing; and 
the waste of dead brown marsh again became as 
silent as the noon sunshine upon it. 

“Wild Tom of the marshes haunted the woods 
and wilderness around the scene of his cannibal 
atrocity for some weeks ; but at last, like his lost 
mate, he was led by his large appetite and his 
long immunity from danger into risking his life 
once too often ; and dogs, men and guns, proved 
too much for him. 

“But it is very late for such tired boys to be 
out of bed ; and this story has been much longer 
then I intended it to be when I began it ; besides 
there is very little left of it known to me. As I 
have already said. Uncle Jason knows much more 
about those two big wildcats than I do. He has 
the spotted skins of both of them. And he claims 
to know the complete life-history of the little 
coon that escaped the cruel fangs of wicked 
Mother Lynx. But that is another tale; so 
good night and pleasant dreams.” 


IV 

THE WISE COON THAT 
GOT AWAY 

W HENEVER the three boys were together 
at the home of Little Boss they found 
or invented some pretext to . invade 
Uncle Jason’s Cabin. Necessarily, country boys 
look to the pleasures of the woods, fields, and 
waters to partly compensate themselves for the 
loss of countless city diversions. Old Uncle 
Jason knew the woods as if the trees were the 
familiar pages of a big story book and the wild 
animals and birds were its well-known pictures. 
The youngsters loved to learn his wood’s lore and 
listen to his apparently limitless stock of wild 
‘‘varmint” tales, most of which were founded 
on incidents of his own experience with the wild 
life of the woods and marshes. 

Thus Little Boss, Bumble, and Hopfrog, after 
hearing the story of Tom Lynx, almost mobbed 
SI 


52 THE WISE COON THAT GOT AWAY 


old Uncle Jason in his cabin a few nights later to 
make him tell his version of the tale and all that 
he pretended to know about the captured coon 
that escaped Mother Lynx. To their noisy 
insistence the old man politely replied : 

“What’s dat ’ticular tale you wants me to tell 
you now, young gemmans all 

“It’s this,” answered Little Boss; “last Satur- 
day night my father told us a long story about 
two large lynxes that lived in our marshes and 
woods ; and he said that you knew more about 
them than he did ; that he and you had found a 
wildcat home in some woods far away in the 
marsh, and you had learned by tracks and signs 
there that the mother wildcat had brought a young 
coon home to her kittens, and the coon had got 
away after a fine fight with them ; and he told us 
that you knew all about how he had escaped them, 
and even what became of him afterward.” 

“Haw-haw-haw!” loudly laughed the old man 
at this recalling of a happy incident of his hunting 
days; and then he said: “De main meat o’ dat 
tale is de trufe, bekase me an’ yo’ paw did find 
dat wilecat home in de foot o’ de gre’t live oak 
which was holler to de groun’. We seed de many 
rabbit-skins scattered aroun’ it, an’ we made 


THE WISE COON THAT GOT AWAY 53 

out de right fresh signs o’ de scrap betwixt de 
kittens an’ de coon, an’ how de coon ’scaped de 
trouble. In co’se, when dey hearn us cornin’, 
all de wilecat fambly, big an’ little, had stole 
away in de woods ; but dey lef’ deir tracks on de 
wet groun’ to tell us deir tale. I was wid yo’ 
paw when he laid out Madam Wilecat stealin’ his 
ducks on de bayou, an’ wid him ag’in when me an’ 
him settled dat long account ag’inst big Tawm. 

‘‘ Sence you will have dat story, whedder or no. 
I’ll begin by sayin’ it’s no use tellin’ you how 
dat young Mr. Coon was cotched : de long an’ de 
short of it was bekase he thunk hisse’f too smart to 
run into trouble. He wouldn’t mind his daddy 
an’ mammy tellin’ him he better stay home, 
bekase he knowed enough widout no meddlin’s 
an’ warnin’s fo’m ole folks about what was better 
or wusser for him to do. But, like some know-it- 
all boys, who runs an’ rambles aroun’ whar dey 
has no right or reason to be, he got took up 
quicker’n de constable could ’a’ nabbed him. 
Only dat ’ticular time de Constable happen’ to 
be a big wicked ole wilecat on her huntin’ roun’s. 
It was too late den to squall, an’ fight, an’ beg, 
an’ promise to beehave, an’ stay home hencefofe 
an’ forever atter. 


54 the wise coon that got away 

‘‘Madam Wilecat never tarried none to Hssen 
to his Coon-talk atter startin’ to take him home 
by her windin’ way. She hilt him by de slack 
skin at de nap’ of his neck an’ toted him along 
light an’ easy as a tame cat totes a lurge rat. 
Whenever he tried to reach up an’ claw her face, 
she des nipped him a little harder for it; an’ he 
moughty soon I’arnt de most he could do was to 
squall on de way to dat shore an’ sartain wilecat 
calaboosh. 

“Den it happen’ de same as yo’ paw tole, an’ 
what de tracks an’ signs showed us. Madam 
Wilecat toted Mahster Coon home, unhurted to 
count, an’ drapped him down amongst her happy 
an’ hongry kittens. She had a mean projick 
in her big head to I’arn her fas’ growin’ chilluns 
how to fight, like dey warn’t already de wusses’ 
fambly in de wilderness. 

“Coons is varmints wid sense enough to keep 
out a foughtin’ when dey kin ; but, mon, when 
dey has to, dey shows dey needed moughty little 
before-l’arnin’ to foller de biz’ness righteously. 
So, when dem young wilecats started dat clawin’ 
an’ bitin’ frolic wid young Zip, dey foun’ dat he 
could play dat game fa’rly well, too. 

“Talk about a wise Coon! Dat one, only 


THE WISE COON THAT GOT AWAY 55 

three quarter growed, was a heap smarter’n de 
ole wilecat which had run across him an’ cotched 
him wid her fool luck! When dat battle for his 
life beginned, Zip Coon used his keen wits to 
holp his claws an’ teefs. Wid de one young wile- 
cat his own size hangin’ on to him, he back’ his 
way to de briars an’ brambles like he was bein’ 
beat an’ pushed dar’. Den, wid one eye on 
Madam Wilecat an’ tudder on de briar-patch, 
he give dat sassy young Tawm one las’ good grip 
an’ rip, tossed him aside, twisted under de tangle- 
bresh — an’ good-by all 1 

“Dat was a r’ale ole Coon gitaway ; an’ Madam 
Wilecat des’ wasted her time tryin’ to ketch him 
over ag’in. Young Zip, widout rustlin’ a dead 
las’-year’s leaf, slipped away nigh flat on de 
groun’ till he come to de bayou on tudder edge o’ 
de woods ; den — plump 1 — no noiser’n a frawg, 
he jumps in de water, an’ dives deep down. Any 
Coon, ole or young, kin swim under water like a 
mushrat, a mink, or a otter when he needs to. 
Well Zip needed to bad dat time, an’ he done it 
too, lemme tell you. He crossed de bayou under 
water, riz under de bushes at de tudder-bank; 
an’ dar he dumb ashore into de reeds an’ looked 
for de long way home. 


56 THE WISE COON THAT GOT AWAY 

‘‘But dat warnT de last of it by a long way. 
When Mr. Wilecat come home in de black mid- 
night, Madam Wilecat tole him all about it, an' 
much mo' besides, an' she showed him de scratches 
an' rips in young Tawm's skin. So, come sun 
down de nex' day, dey bofe started out to 'stroy 
young Zip an' his whole fambly ; an' dey followed 
dat 'ticular Coon fambly so close an' pressed it 
so hard dat at las' Daddy Coon made up his 
mind dey'd have to leave de ma'sh for good an’ 
live in de far-away woods ; an' dey all starts 
togedder on a twenty-mile rack for de big woods 
nigh de river. Deir wise old cousin, Jedge B'ar, 
lived in dem long woods, an' dey meant to ax 
him whar dey mought settle down to save deyse'fs 
f'om dem murderin' varmints. 

“I dunno whedder or not Mr. Coon an' Jedge 
B'ar was r'ale cousins, like most o' de ole Verginny 
folks-o'-quality is ; but some o' dem oletime 
gemmans who use' to come here an' hunt, wid 
me runnin' de houn's, tole me dat same, bekase 
o' dis : Bofe dem varmints, little an' big, had 
heads alike ; dey bofe racked an' run flat-footed ; 
dey bofe sot down on deir ha'nches an' fed wid 
deir ban's, like folkses does ; dey bofe feeds 
togedder on de same grub, like it was at de same 


THE WISE COON THAT GOT AWAY 57 


table ; an’, at de eatin’, big-mouf lets little-mouf 
have his share o’ de vittlse widout abusin’ him for 
bein’ too greedy, which is more’n some fokses 
does who’s moughty close kin. But what puzzled 
me de most in dat book I’arnin’ talk on varmints 
o’ dem befo’-de-war gemmans was dis : Ef all 
b’ars an’ coons belonged to de same fambly, den 
b’ars must ’a’ lost a consid’able part o’ de fambly 
tail befo’ my times ! 

“Howbeit, dey all acted like dey was close 
cousins when Daddy an’ Mammy Coon an’ Zip 
an’ two smaller chilluns racked up to Jedge B’ar’s 
house an’ knocked at his door ; an’ he come right 
on out an’ met ’um an’ ’sclaimed : 

‘‘‘Why, howdye do. Cousin Coons all, what 
good breeze blowed you here dis bright day ? 
Come right on in an’ jine me in a fine crawfeesh 
an’ roasin’-ear-dinner, wid honey in de comb to 
foller: it’s des’ ready.’ An’ at de table he paid 
plenty o’ compliments to Mammy Coon an’ 
made a gre’t ’miration over her three chilluns, 
which was skeered enough to ’scape back to de 
ma’sh. 

“Den, atter dinner. Daddy Coon tole him all 
about de trouble wid de two big wilecats, how dey 
was tryin’ to hunt down an’ kill his whole fambly. 


S8 THE WISE COON THAT GOT AWAY 


an’ how de row got started when Zip fit an’ 
whupped de four young wilecats at once, an’ 
’scaped deir mad mudder besides. At dat las’ 
part o’ de tale, Jedge B’ar mos’ split de seams of 
his shaggy black coat larfin’ ; den when all 
was tole, says he : 

‘ Cousin Coon, you’s sho’ly wise to come live 
in de woods ; you better look aroun’ in dis 
neighborhood for a high holler house wid good 
eatin’ a-plenty in handy reach ; all over de woods 
dar’s wile berries an’ nuts, way back de sloos is 
full o’ tadpoles, bullfrawgs, an’ sich ; an’ green 
corn, pease, an’ punkins grows in a world o’ 
fiel’s in front. In dese diggin’s you may all grow 
fat an’ happy an’ moughty ole ef you’ll keep a 
keen lookout for colored folks wid coon-dawgs 
an’ baited traps an’ lawg deadfalls : an’ always 
recomember dis : ‘‘ Grub too easy come is danger- 
somel”* 

‘‘De growed Coons agreed to dat projick wid 
shinin’ eyes an’ grinnin’ mouves; an’ at de mid- 
night risin’ o’ de half-gone moon, dey all shuk 
ban’s wid big Cousin B’ar an’ racked away house- 
huntin’. Befo’ break-o’-day dey found a snug 
holler, high up a big tree far back in de woods; 
an’ no coonhunter dat ever lived, wid de best o’ 


THE WISE COON THAT GOT AWAY 59 


woods rarnin’ could ever find dat fambly home. 
Maybe it was bekase wise ole Jedge B’ar put some 
kind of a hoodoo on it to save it Pom all sorts o’ 
huntsmen, black or white. 

“Dar’ dat Coon fambly got to be de fattes* 
o’ de fat an’ de happies’ o’ de happy, wid mo’ to 
eat seven days in de week dan dey’d had in a 
mont’ livin’ in de ma’sh. When de time come 
for de ole folks to go, young Zip had growed 
bigger an’ wiser’n his daddy was in dem way- 
back days. He stayed on in de fambly holler 
while tudder chilluns, dat was, roamed off, set 
up housekeepin’ an’ raised famblies somewhar’s 
else. 

^‘In de same long time young Wilecat Tawm, 
who Zip whupped, growed bigger an’ badder’n 
his daddy was, too; an’ he never forgot dat 
lammin’ he got befo’ his own home. An’, in all 
dat time. Zip never forgot him nuther; an’ dat 
scrap an’ his ’scape was de beginnin’ o’ sich a 
edication o’ dat Coon’s wits as mought ’a’ made 
ole Mr. Fox fit to wear a foolscap beside him. 

“Well, wid de feelin’s o’ bofe always stayin’ 
dat way, come a time when trouble come ag’in 
to show it. Durin’ de dusk pne day, while Zip 
was wood-ramblin’, he run across a big roun’ 


6o THE WISE COON THAT GOT AWAY 


track sich as he hadn’t seen sence he leP de 
ma’sh ; but he still knowed who made it moughty 
well. Dat looked bad, but, wusser still, he seed 
dat dem big tracks was follerin’ his own whar he 
had walked de night befo’. Wile Tawm had come 
to de woods, an’ was lookin’ for him ! Zip racks 
right for home in a hurry ! On de way dar he 
runs up one tree, over by de locked limbs into 
anudder, an’ anudder, down dat, an’ de same all 
over sev’al times, till he reaches home wid a 
broke-up scent behind him. Zip stayed awake 
in his high holler all night, lissenin’ an’ lookin’ 
out o’ his door-hole; an’, nigh midnight, he 
hearn a wilecat yowl in de woods, soundin’ louder 
for de many trees : an’ it was sho’ly Son Tawm 
wid his own daddy’s voice ! 

“Now, young gemmans, me an’ you-all ain’t 
able to tell de tracks or de talk of one varmint o’ 
de same kind f’om anudder’s (’cept one ’ticular 
track sometimes) ; but de wile varmints o’ de 
woods knows who’s a-walkin’, or who’s a-talkin’, ef 
dey’s ever seed, hearn, or smelt ’um befo’, like 
folkses o’ de same place knows each udder when 
dey meets face to face. An’, amongst deyselves, 
de varmints knows ef what dey hears is idle talk, 
de fambly call, or de huntin’ cry. 


THE WISE COON THAT GOT AWAY 6 1 


“Gwine out much earlier de nex’ twilight to git 
home de sooner, Zip is skeered moughty bad ag’in 
to see de same big tracks follerin’ his las^ nighfs 
trail, an* even claw marks clambin* de fust tree 
he took to break his trail. But Mr. Wilecat was 
too heavy to cross over by de limbs, so he los* de 
track, dat time. Dis showed Zip, plain as day, dat 
Wile Tawm had come to de woods at las’ to finish 
him ; so it was up to him to work out some way to 
outwit Mr. Wilecat ; bekase wid his trailin’ an’ 
tree-clambin’, dat varmint was boun’ to find his 
holler in time wid his steady, all-night huntin’. 

“At las’ Zip hit on a plan to ’scape f’om dat 
trouble an’ tribulation ag’in ; an’ it was dis : He 
’termined to move to de front o’ de woods whar 
Tawm mought git tired o’ huntin’ him, or be 
tolled into danger hisse’f. He would have to give 
up his woods an’ water grub for awhile an’ feed 
on de fiel’ crops. Den, gwine to sich feedin’ 
groun’s, he’d foller de pafFs behine de shoat lots 
an’ sheep pastur’s, whar his footscent would git 
too much mixed up wid de stronger tame creetur 
smells for de true trailin’ o’ wilecat or coon dawg. 
An’ dar Mr. Wilecat mought git ’stracted to de 
huntin’ o’ lurger game. 

“Well, de fust mawnin’ after Zip moved to de 


62 THE WISE COON THAT GOT AWAY 


front o’ de woods, an’ mawnin’s follerin’, I seed 
his fresh tracks in de narrow hawg an’ sheep runs 
nigh de pastur’ back fence. In de muddy places 
he lef’ de bigges’, fattes’ coon tracks I ever seed, 
an’ I took to huntin’ him hard ; but my dawgs 
never could trail him till he was treed, wid de 
mixed-up scents, an’, maybe, a hoodoo to holp 
him. Den, passin’ dat same way behine de pastur’ 
fence at sun-up one mawnin’, I foun’ de lurges’ 
wilecat tracks I ever seed in my born days. Dey 
was right fresh an’ was treadin’ in dat same coon’s 
night tracks : an’ Tawm had foun’ Zip’s trail ag’in I 

“I follered Mr. Wilecat’s footprints a piece 
an’ foun’ he soon stopped an’ stood in one place 
res’less for a good while, makin’ many tracks, while 
Zip’s trail kep’ straight on. Den Mr. Wilecat 
turned back into de big woods, like he’d forgot all 
about Zip. 

“‘Arn harn ! I knows what’s ’sturbin’ you now, 
ole Mr. Wilecat!’ says I to myse’f, an’ I went 
back home. Befo’ dawn de nex’ mawnin’ I 
was dar ag’in, hid behine de fence wid a loaded 
gun, waitin’ to tell Mr. Wilecat good mawnin’ de 
right way. But, as de sun riz an’ he never showed 
up, I started back home; an’ I hadn’t passed 
more’n a dozen fence panels when I foun’ a plain 


THE WISE CCX)N THAT GOT AWAY 63 

trail o* sumpen’ dragged under a loose bottom 
rail. It had wiped out de robber’s tracks ; but 
I follered dat trail well into de woods — knowin’ 
what it was — till I come to what was left of a 
half-growed shoat, stoled Pom de hawg lot. 

“Straight home goes I, at a lively gait all de 
way, an’ hastes over to de house to tell yo’ paw 
about our Wile Tawm’s las’ doin’s. He hurried 
up his breakfas’ an’ made de cook gimme mine at 
de same time, an’ got his deer-gun; an’, soon, 
me an’ him had all de dozen deerhoun’s loose an’ 
jumpin’ around us, whinin’ an howlin’ to be off to 
de woods. 

“Den away we went, prancin’ horse, joggin’ 
mule, an’ ’stracted dawgs, till we reached de right 
place, hitched our critters to fence posts, started 
de houn’s, an’ sot out afoot to foller or head ’um 
off. 

“We jumped bigTawm about a mile back in 
de woods ; an’ he started out gwine at his fastes’ 
gait to git well out o’ de way o’ dat man who was 
whoopin’ on de houn’s behind him. Atter dat, 
bein’ heavy wid his too much raw shoat, he 
slowed down to a short-step trot, as he was in no 
’ticular hurry to run away Pom dawgs, which he 
’spised as much as he hated. He had found it 


64 THE WISE COON THAT GOT AWAY 

moughty easy to turn aroun’ an’ whup off de few 
lean mangy houn’s de ma’sh hunters had sent 
atter him ; an’, maybe, he mought ’a’ kilt some of 
our better dawgs ef dey had cotched up wid him in 
de chase; an’ dey would ’a’ sho’ly done it in a 
short time; but dey didn’t git de chance to run 
him down to a finish. 

“When dat bol’ big varmint thunk he was far 
enough ahead to be safe f’om dat noisy man drivin’ 
de houn’s, he trotted on todes de ma’sh in his 
don’t-keer impudent way, knowin’ mens couldn’t 
keep on follerin’ him dar ef de dawgs, which he 
wasn’t afeared of, could. At dat same keerless 
gait he crossed a wood hauler’s road layin’ in his 
way ; or I mought better say he tried to cross dat 
road widout payin’ no ’tendon to de man he seed 
on it some distance away, who was gyardin’ it 
wid a good gun. Mr. Wilecat mought ’a’ thunk 
dat man was too far to be dangersome; but he 
thunk wrong, ef he did ; an’ he stopped right in 
de middle o’ dat rough road ; an’ he stayed dar ! 
An’ dat was de way how big Wile Tawm of de 
far lonesome oak woods an’ de lonesomer wide 
ma’sh got finished an’ done ’ceasted. 

“An’ wise Zip Coon, who had fit Tawm young 
an’ tricked him ole, was too smart for him an’ 


THE WISE COON THAT GOT AWAY 65 

too cunnin’ for me ; an’, lookin’ back at dem gone 
days, I’s glad enough now dat I never cotched him. 
An’ I hopes dat he lived de longes’, de fattes’, an’ 
de happies’ ole coon dat ever racked in de woods 
or rambled in de wilderness.” 


V 

WHY MR. ALLIGATOR NEVER 
BELLOWS IN BAYOUS 

N ot long after the exciting capture of 
the big Alligator, when Little Boss was 
again entertaining hi^s two friends on 
the home plantation, the three boys heard a 
strange story about the bellowing of bull alligators. 
They were returning to the house from their out- 
door sports one evening in the twilight, when they 
found Uncle Jason standing at the bottom of the 
back steps, finishing his regular daily report to 
the mistress of the mansion on the condition of the 
garden work. After receiving his instructions for 
the morrow, the old man made his usual parting 
obeisance, and turned to go homeward, when he 
met the tired youngsters. Of course, they stopped 
to greet him cordially and have a short chat with 
him, as he was very popular with all of the local 
plantation boys. Likewise the old man willingly 
66 


NEVER BELLOWS IN BAYOUS 67 

tarried awhile to listen to their lively and happy 
talk. 

The boys were still full of their victory over the 
great alligator. Most likely they would never 
forget it, as they had conquered the most formi- 
dable foe of their native wilds, next to the prowling 
cougar and the voracious black bear. But the 
few survivors of those two creatures in that part 
of the country were no longer feared as very 
dangerous, as they were rarely seen except by 
professional hunters, and were but cowardly 
fugitives from men. 

In their lively talk with the old man the boys 
may have been the least bit boastful as they 
repeated the most daring details of that mighty 
struggle with the immense reptile ; and in telling 
the tale they by no means diminished its possible 
attendant dangers. 

Uncle Jason listened most admiringly, and 
looked satisfactorily impressed ; and, when they 
finished the noisy narration of the marvelous 
exploit, he shook his gray head and very gravely 
observed : 

“Yas, indeed, young gemmans all, it was sho’ly 
moughty brave in you to cotch dat big hawg- 
murderin’ Madam Yallergator widout no man to 


68 


NEVER BELLOWS IN BAYOUS 


holp you ; an’ it was moughty smart to make ole 
Bill-Mule land her an’ haul her home. But I 
wonders whar you mought ’a’ been now, ef you’d 
foun’ big an’ bad Mr. Bull Yallergator at home 
too, dat same Sad’dy mawnin’!” 

“We would have caught him also, after finish- 
ing with his mate, and tied him to a tree until 
we could go back after him and haul him out some 
other day,” very confidently replied Hopfrog. 

“Maybe you mought, an’ den ag’in, maybe you 
moughtn’t,” sagely suggested Uncle Jason. “Ef 
ole Mr. Bull Yallergator had been home too, an’ 
got rale mad at yo’ meddlin’ wid his fambly, he 
mought ’a’ cotched you, instid o’ you cotchin’ 
him. But he mought ’a’ tuk it all out in blowin’ 
an’ bluffin’ an’ tryin’ to beller. Mr. Bull Yaller- 
gator is a moughty big bluffer.” 

“Yes, and he’s mighty poor at bellowing, 
despite what many story books say about him, for 
he makes the most dismal attempts trying to I 
ever heard,” remarked Little Boss. 

“That’s so,” promptly agreed Bumble; “those 
story-book alligator bellows are all bosh ; they 
sound much more like the groans of an old sick 
horse, or the grunts of a happy hog in a mudbath 
than they do like any bellowing.” 


NEVER BELLOWS IN BAYOUS 


69 

Those who have often heard the doleful groans 
of great bull alligators in the Louisiana marshes 
must indorse the truth of these two boys’ state- 
ments against the testimony of many story 
writers, as did Uncle Jason, who exclaimed : 

“You has bofe sho’ly hit de mark dar! Mr. 
Bull Yallergator tries his hardes’ to make his talk 
big enough to fit his size an’ his looks. Ef you- 
all kin spar’ de time to drap in my cabin soon 
atter supper to-night, I mought tell you about 
how hard he tried to I’arn to beller in de bayou, 
an’ how he got so ’shamed of his own voice dat 
he quit tryin’ it in open water, but hides away 
in de ma’shes an’ swamps out o’ sight when he 
turns it loose.” 

This invitation was eagerly accepted ; Uncle 
Jason managed to escape the boys for a time, and 
they ran up the steps to get ready for and hurry 
through supper. Then, hastening to Uncle 
Jason’s cabin, they were welcomed with mannerly 
politeness. After his young visitors were all 
seated on a well-worn board bench on the cabin 
porch, their venerable host took a wooden chair 
facing them and turned his head to call : 

“Gombo, make has’e an’ finish washin’ up our 
supper things, an’ you may come out here ^n’ 


70 


NEVER BELLOWS IN BAYOUS 


jine us ef you keers to hear about Mr. Bull 
Yallergator too.” 

‘‘What, is Gombo Joe living with you now?” 
asked Little Boss with surprise. 

“Yas,” explained Uncle Jason, “I tuk him in 
wid me on trial dis week; de boy wasn’t gittin’ 
prezackly a fa’r show livin’ roun’ about in de 
quarters ; I’s sort o’ lonesome livin’ to myse’f in 
dis yard cabin ; I’s tuk a tol’able likin’ to de boy; 
he ain’t so bad ; his manners an’ behavior is 
gittin’ better, he’s willin’ at wuk, and ef I kin 
I’arn him to talk right, like we-all talks, maybe 
me an’ him mought make it out togedder till he’s 
done growin’..” 

During this explanation, a noisy clattering of 
plates, pots, and pans being cleaned and put away 
indicated that Gombo Joe was rushing through 
his domestic work in the small back kitchen as 
rapidly as possible. Just as the old man had 
finished speaking about him, he came out on the 
porch, bearing a stool for his seat, and saluted 
the young visitors with a general “good ebenin’” 
and a joyful grin. 

With all thus assembled and silently waiting 
for him to begin his promised story. Uncle Jason 
gravely discussed several subjects in no way con- 


NEVER BELLOWS IN BAYOUS 


71 


nected with reptiles or any other creature of the 
wilds. But, when his young auditors were visibly 
growing impatient at this unreasonable delay, he 
gradually and most adroitly worked his way 
around to his promised theme and began : 

“Like Fs already tole you-all, dat was a fine 
venturesome job what you boys, white an’ black, 
done, cotchin’ an’ haulin’ home dat big, hawg- 
killin’ Yallergator, widout gittin’ hurted none 
doin’ it ; an’, like you says, I guess you’d ’a’ sarved 
Mr. Bull Yallergator de same way ef he’d been 
dar, too; but all dat’s done an’ gone now. 

“Now we comes to de ways o’ Mr. Bull Yaller- 
gator. When all is said, he is a meaner creetur’, 
but a wusser coward dan his wide-mouf lady; 
an’ she’s so mean she won’t stay home half a 
summer to look atter her own young chilluns ; 
but she leaves ’um to take care o’ deyse’fs while 
she goes off huntin’ up devilment in de wilderness. 

“De oletime folkses f’om way back yander 
use’ to tell me dat Mr. Yallergator was wusser’n 
he is now, in dem days. He swummed up an’ 
down de bayou day or night ; he loafed on de 
banks layin’ in de warm sunshine, and he warn’t 
afeared o’ nobody. Wid no eend o’ weaker 
varmints and water birds to eat, he didn’t have 


72 


NEVER BELLOWS IN BAYOUS 


to hussle hard for a livin’ like reptiles, varmints, 
an’ mens all has to do dese times. 

“But, wid all o’ his ’vantages, Mr. Yallergator 
was lackin’ a voice to suit him. He couldn’ 
talk, nor sing, nor holler ; an’ de bestes’ he could 
do was to hiss like a mud turkle or a monst’ous 
black mocassin snake. He could hear varmints 
not nigh his size growl an’ howl an’ yowl in de 
wilderness ; he could hear de wile ducks quack an’ 
gabble on de water-shoals, de wile geeses honk an’ 
de bugle-cranes whoop high up in de sky, an’ de 
gre’t, gray, lonesome heron croak low over de 
ma’sh reeds in de moonlight. But nary a yowl 
could he howl, nor a whoop could he trumpet, 
not a beller could he blow. 

“Den, one day, when he was swimmin’ lazylike 
along de bayou, he hearn a gre’t, big, loud, 
hoa’se voice bellerin’ aroun’ a bend some distance 
ahead, like dis : 

‘“See my drum! Hear my drum! Rubber 
drum!’ 

‘“Gret fathers!’ hisses Mr. Yallergator to 
hisse’f : ‘What in de worl’ is dat ? It must be a 
monst’ous big beas’ ! Ef I could only beller like 
dat to go wid my looks, I mought skeer de whole 
worl’ into my mouf! But lemme swim dat way 


NEVER BELLOWS IN BAYOUS 


73 


under water, an’ steal up on him easy, an’ see 
what he is, bekase he soun’s moughty danger- 
some !’ An’ when Mr. Yallergator riz up a little 
closer to him, dat moughty monster hellers ag’in : 

‘‘‘See my drum! Hear my drum! Rubber 
drum !’ 

“Down sinks Mr. Yallergator ag’in, an’ he 
comes up close beside de bank, whar he slips on 
quiet an’ slow as a driftin’ lawg. Skeered an’ 
wary, he keeps his big eyes wide open to watch 
for danger. Bimeby he comes to a ole desarted 
mushrat mound on de brink o’ de bayou : An’ 
what does he see ! 

“Dar’ sets Mr. Bullfrawg at de bottom o’ dat 
mound, blowin’ up his chin like a childuns’ red 
toy balloom, an’ den turnin’ his bag o’ wind loose 
wid his rumblin’ : 

‘“See my drum! Hear my drum! Rubber 
drum!’ like he wanted all his neighbors to take 
notice what a big noise in de worl’ he could make 
widout tryin’ his bestes’ at dat. 

“When Mr. Bull Yallergator comes abreas’ o’ 
Mr. Bullfrawg settin’ on de bayou bank, Mr. 
Bullfrawg breaks loose again : 

‘“See my drum! Hear my drum! Rubber 
drum !’ Den he backs some away f’om de water. 


74 


NEVER BELLOWS IN BAYOUS 


“ Mr. Yallergator was so ’stonished at what he 
seed an’ hearn dat he stopped right still, an’ 
he stared so hard at Mr. Bullfrawg dat he backed 
a foot higher up de hillock, and den he blowed up 
his chin its bigges’ an’ boomed away his loudes’ 
bellerin’. An’ at dat Mr. Yallergator whispers 
thick an’ wheezy thew his locked tushes : 

‘“My Lawsy, Mr. Bullfrawg, you sho’ly has a 
fine lurge bellow for a pusson o’ yo’ size. Whar 
did you git it ? ’ 

“Befo’ he answers, Mr. Bullfrawg slips de 
fillums up an’ down over his eyes once or twice 
to cl’ar up his sight better, hops up on top o’ 
de mound, turns around’ facin’ Mr. Yallergator, 
an’ bellers his loudes’ an’ bestes’ ag’in. 

‘“Oh, my, dat’s a noble beller ! Won’t you 
jump down here in the bayou an’ Earn me how to 
do it .f” hisses Mr. Yallergator. 

‘“No; dat water looks ruther wet,’ answers 
Mr. Bullfrawg, ’an’ it mought give me sich a bad 
cole an’ sore froat as to spile my voice for good an’ 
all. I kin beller much better up here in de warm 
sunshine ; an’ you kin hear me better in de water. 
Ef you’d like to Earn, lissen an’ try it yo’se’f. 
Here’s de way it goes : see my drum : hear my 
drum : rubber drum. It’s moughty easy.’ 


NEVER BELLOWS IN BAYOUS 


75 


“Mr. Bull Alligator liPs his long, horny head 
above de water an’ tries to beller de Bullfrawg 
boom wid his big mouf shet tight, like he always 
does his kind o’ hissin’-talk, an’ he goes : 

‘ sssh — sssh — sssh — sssh ’, mushier’n ole 
Mr. Mud Turkle talkin’ wid his mouf full. 

“‘Oh, dat won’t do at all!’ ’sclaims Mr. 
Bullfrawg. ‘Don’t keep yo’ mouf shet; open it 
away back to yo’ froat for yo’ bellerin’ : but 
wait till I hops a little furder back f’om de bank, 
so when you does sing like you should sing an’ 
you kin sing, you won’t make me deef in de 
bearin’ lissenin’ to you too nigh.’ 

“Wid dat, Mr. Bullfrawg blinks his bright eyes, 
one at a time ag’in, hops half-way roun’, bellers 
his loudes’ for de second lesson, den stops to lissen 
to Mr. Yallergator. An’ Mr. Bull Yallergator 
opens his two-foot mouf about one foot wide, an’ 
goes : 

“‘Gur-r-r-oh — oah — oh — oah 1’ 

“Mon, he des groaned like he had a stumick- 
ache bigger’n his whole body 1 

“At dat Mr. Bullfrawg fell over backward 
about five foot furder f’om de brink o’ de bayou, 
an’ almost kicked off his long legs in a fit o’ 
larfin’. An’ when Mr. Yallergator seed what 


76 


NEVER BELLOWS IN BAYOUS 


merriment Mr. Bullfrawg was makin’ over his 
tryin’ to heller, he got rippin’ mad, an’ swep’ 
ashore wid a great swirl of his strong tail, clean 
up to de top o’ dat mushrat mound, to swaller 
Mr. Bullfrawg, heller an’ all ! 

“But when you ketches Mr. Bullfrawg nappin’ 
whar he hellers, lemme know it, so’s I kin I’arn 
sumpen new. He knowed what was gwine to 
happen follerin’ dat las’ lesson ; so he was hoppin’ 
away in de ma’sh ten foot at a jump before Mr. 
Yallergator could crook his long tail to make his 
land leap. Den, when he knowed he had ’scaped 
far enough f’om dat big mouf which could bite so 
much better’n it could beller, he sot down, winked 
one eye, an’ sassed Mr. Bull Yallergator his 
loudes’ wid his : 

“‘See my drum! Hear my drum I Rubber 
drum! Rubber drum!! Rubber drumm!!!’ 

“So, madder’n mad for his miss, Mr. Yaller- 
gator could do no more’n crawl back in de bayou. 
Hissin’ wid his mouf shet an’ grumblin’ wid it 
open, as he had des I’arnt to do in dat bellerin’ 
lesson, he swummed on away f’om dar’, s’archin’ 
for sumpen else to ketch an’ swaller alive to ease 
his hurted feelin’s. 

“For some days an’ nights follerin’ dat, atter 


NEVER BELLOWS IN BAYOUS 


77 


Mr. Bull Yallergator had fed full, while he floated 
in de water in de moonshine, or basked in de sun 
on de bayou bank, over an’ over ag’in he tried to 
strike de bullfrawg beller. But de best he could 
do was to groan an’ grunt out dat same : 

‘Gurrrh — oh — oah — oh — oah.’ 

‘‘But, ev’y time he done it, all de birds an’ 
varmints in bearin’ made spote o’ his new voice. 
Madam Duck quacked. Madam Ma’sh-hen 
cackled, Mr. Crane whooped, Mr. Otter 
whissled, Mr. Coon squalled, an’ Mr. Wilecat 
wauled, all larfin’ at him scan’alous till dey 
shamed Mr. Bull Yallergator into keepin’ his 
mouf shet on open water for good an’ all. Now 
he never tries to beller on de bayou no mo’; 
an’ de onlies’ place whar birds, varmints, or 
mens ever hears him is whar he’s hid nigh his 
hole deep in de ma’sh, when winter’s gone for 
good an’ summer’s come to stay. 

“Steal up on him easy, an’ hide yo’se’f close 
an’ still, like I’s done many an’ many a time 
in my huntin’ days, an’ you’ll see him layin’ 
stretched in de sunshine on de bank of some 
shaller crooked slough, or beside some big mud- 
hole, in de ma’sh. Keep right quiet, an’ look at 
him close; an’ you’ll see him try to swell up his 


78 


NEVER BELLOWS IN BAYOUS 


chin an’ froat, like Mr. Bullfrawg showed him, 
an’ den he’ll groan : 

‘ Gurrrh — oh — oah — oh — oah ! ’ 

“Maybe ef Mr. Bull Yallergator had kept 
his bad temper down an’ gone to Mr. Bullfrawg’s 
singin’-school long an’ reg’lar enough, he mought 
’a’ I’arnt to beller a lot better’n he does. But 
he didn’t; an’ he can’t do no better’n grunt an’ 
groan to dis long day. 

“As for Mr. Bullfrawg, he mought feel dat 
he’s a moughty big somebody; but he’s only 
like some mens you come across in bein’ a heap 
noiser’n he is dangersome. 

“An’ dat’s all, young gemmans ; de stars in 
de dipper handle is hangin’ moughty high, which 
is a sartain sign dat bed’s de righteous place for 
ole bones : so good night, young gemmans all.” 


VI 


HOW THE SQUIRREL-JAY 
WAR BEGAN 

M ounted on horse and mule, one after- 
noon in the middle of July, Little Boss 
and Uncle Jason were jogging along 
together on a rough bridle path of the back 
cattle pasture lying between the cornfield fence 
and the woods. The old man’s mission was to 
make a careful inspection of the fence to find if it 
needed any repairs. The boy’s was ostensibly 
to help in this easy job, but really to enjoy a 
ride in such good company in the half-cleared 
waste near the woods. As they progressed at a 
slow walk through the narrowest space between 
the cornfield and the forest, the boy’s attention 
was attracted to a lively row going on between 
several jaybirds and a single squirrel in a large 
hickory tree near the bridle path. He had 
seen numerous similar disturbances before, as 


79 


8o HOW THE SQUIRREL-JAY WAR BEGAN 


have most people familiar with the woods and the 
ways of their small feathered and furred inhabi- 
tants ; and to all wood lovers such harmless 
encounters are interesting and amusing. 

A mob of noisy jays was screeching and darting 
at the persecuted squirrel, which was seated on 
a lofty limb, vainly trying to open and eat a 
hickory nut left over from its winter store. For 
awhile the squirrel hugged the nut firmly in his 
forepaws against the jays^ repeated attempts to 
rob him of it. But, in resisting their continued 
and determined attacks, he soon accidentally 
dropped it. Most of the jays swiftly swooped 
down after the falling prize, followed it to the 
ground, and greedily grabbed at it. But, finding 
it too hard a nut to crack, they flew up and re- 
turned to their assault with redoubled ardor, as 
if they felt defrauded. Swiftly wheeling on 
vivid blue wings, and increasing their discordant, 
scolding clamor, they passed the squirrel closely 
enough to occasionally give him a vicious peck. 
The angry squirrel, able only to bark in reply, 
finally decided to retreat from his too numerous 
swift-winged assailants and take refuge in his 
home hole in the tree trunk. As, with trium- 
phant cheers over their victory, the flock of jays 


HOW THE SQUIRREL-JAY WAR BEGAN 8i 


flew away into the woods or the bordering 
thickets, the boy observed : 

“Uncle Jason, I wonder why jaybirds hate 
squirrels so much. Wherever they happen to 
find one away from his hole, they always call up 
a crowd of other jays to join them in tormenting 
and attacking him.’’ 

The old man rode silently and slowly on, 
closely examining the condition of the post-and- 
rail cypress fence to make sure that it was, as he 
called it : ‘‘ horse-high, steer-strong, and hog- 

tight.” Apparently he had paid no heed to the 
noisy jay and squirrel quarrel, although he had 
doubtless heard it, and well understood it without 
the need of seeing it. But finally he replied 
to his young companion : 

“Well, Little Mahster, Mr. Squir’l an’ Mr. 
Jaybird bofe has pretty good reasons to ’spise 
one anudder; an’ it’s hard to say which treated 
de tudder de wussest in de beginnin’ o’ dat long 
war betwixt ’um which lasts yit.” 

Before Uncle Jason had finished what he in- 
tended to say, the two riders reached the back of 
a cornfield bearing its first crop in rank, recently 
cleared land. This crop was to be followed the 
next year by its first planting in sugar cane. In 


82 HOW THE SQUIRREL-JAY WAR BEGAN 


his enthusiastic admiration for this magnificent 
new-ground corn he seemed to have completely 
forgotten all about squirrels, birds, and boys. 
With beaming eyes and widely smiling mouth 
he exultingly exclaimed : 

‘‘Des’ look at dat new-groun’ corn atter de 
good summer rains we’s been havin’ ! It’s a 
good twelve foot tall ! Look at it, rustlin’ its 
broad blue-green leaves in de win’ like it was 
larfin’ wid its life ! Look at de tawsles wavin’ an’ 
dancin’ at de top over de two big ears to de stalk 
below. Des’ look at dem big fat ears wid de 
yaller-brown silk bustin’ out de shucks like a 
young lady’s let-down back hyar ! Ripe for de 
barn dey’ll sho’ly shell a pint apiece!” 

‘‘But what are those fallen ears doing on the 
ground, with their shucks torn open and their 
green cobs bare, and those few hanging on the 
fence rails, and those others lying out here in 
the high grass asked the observant and curious 
youngster, who received the following ready reply : 

“Maybe you I’arnt at Sunday-school dat when 
de good Lawd gived mens seed corn, an’ de groun’ 
to plant it in. He said sumpen about lettin’ de 
birds o’ de air an’ de beas’es o’ de fiel’s have a 
leetle share o* de crap likewise. Who’s gwine to 


HOW THE SQUIRREL-JAY WAR BEGAN 83 


miss dem few ears gone, which has helped to feed 
an’ fatten a hongry coon or two, or was borrowed 
by Mr. Possum to lay on his rich cookin’-grease 
befo’ de cornin’ o’ Chrismastime ? An’ maybe 
Mr. Squir’l an’ Mr. Jaybird come along later 
an’ tuk some o’ dem larger varmints’ leavin’s. 
Talkin’ about dem last two, an’ de varmint-pulled 
corn, brings back to me de true tale about how 
dat long-lastin’ row betwixt Mr. Squir’l an’ Mr. 
Jaybird got started to stay. An’ dis is about how 
it was : 

‘‘In all o’ de woods an’ thickets an’ groves 
lives no two bigger rogues dan Mr. Jaybird an’ 
Mr. Squir’l. Talkin’ about de two, I puts Mr. 
Jaybird fust bekase he’s de wussest; he steals 
what he don’t need, whar dar’s no sense in stealin’. 
But, good clo’s as one w’ars, an’ innercent as 
tudder looks, dey’s bofe born robbers when it 
comes to takin’ things to eat. It’s fruits an’ nuts 
f’om de gyarden an’ yard-groves, roasin’ ears f’om 
de cornfiel’s, an’ aigs f’om de bird nesses in de 
woods an’ everywhars wusser’n suck-aig dogs 
f’om de henhouse. 

“But, in time, de two had a gre’t fuss; an’, 
like a good sayin’ I hearn once : ‘ When rogues 
falls out hones’ folks prospers.’ Dat’s dis way: 


84 HOW THE SQUIRREL-JAY WAR BEGAN 


Sence de day o’ dat row Mr. Jaybird an’ Mr. 
Squir’l has always kep’ close watch on one 
anudder, an’ each hollers ‘thief’ when he sees de 
udder start to steal. An’ dat saves tudder birds 
an’ creatur’s f’om losin’ a lot mor’n dey does. 

“ Deir ’sturbance got started in dis way : In 
long-gone times a farmin’ man had a fine corn- 
fiel’ in a rich piece o’ new groun’ des like dis. 
Likewise it was nigh tall woods standin’ not so 
far behine de back fence. Like our’n, too, dat 
cornfiel’ was full o’ fat juicy roasin’ ears. Lots 
o’ Squir’ls an’ Jaybirds lived in de woods borderin’ 
dat cornfiel’ ; an’, f’om sunup to sundown, dey 
was moughty hongry for a good feed o’ green corn. 
But, temptin’ as all dem plump roasin’ ears was, 
dey dassent try to take none bekase dat fiel’ 
was too keerfully detected by de man who growed 
de crap. He not only walked aroun’ it wid a gun 
reg’lar many times a day, but he was liable to go 
dar onexpected at any oddtime. An’ what he’d 
done to Mr. Crow in de spring wid dat go-bang 
weepon made him look too dangersome to risk 
to all de rest o’ de skeery wile creation in dem 
woods. 

“So, while Mr. Squir’l an’ Mr. Jaybird looked 
over f’om de woods into dat cornfiel’, an’ hongered 


HOW THE SQUIRREL-JAY WAR BEGAN 85 


for dem fat ears till it hurt, dey was too afeared 
to go over de fence an’ pull a few ready for eatin’ 
right away, or ripe enough to save up in deir 
little barns in de woods for winter use. All you 
plantation boys knows, widout my tellin’ you, dat 
of all de birds an’ varmints livin’ in dese parts, 
only Mr. Squir’l an’ Mr. Jaybird is wise enough 
to know dat de hard an’ hongry wintertime is 
sholy gwine to foller de fun an’ fat feedin’ o’ 
de happy summer. 

“Sayin’ nuttin’ to nobody, Mr. Jaybird thunk 
hard to hisse’f over ways o’ gittin’ at dat corn. 
An’ Mr. Squir’l he done de same. But each one 
to hisse’f couldn’t see de right road to reach de 
grub. Den, good frien’s as dey was in dem times, 
dey got to talkin’ about it togedder. Two heads 
is better’n one ; an’ dat’s nigher de trufe when two 
rogues plans to steal togedder. So, as dey sot 
nigh each udder in de same tree overlookin’ de 
cornfieT, sayin’ how nice de roasin’ ears seemed 
an’ countin’ de dangers o’ de loaded gun ag’inst 
de wuth o’ de corn, a moughty smart projick 
struck Mr. Jaybird, an’ says he : 

‘‘‘Lissen, Brudder Squir’l, I b’leeves I’s hit on 
a good an’ safe plan to git a plenty o’ dat corn : 
it’s dis. Me an’ a flock o’ my Jaybird frien’s 


86 HOW THE SQUIRREL-JAY WAR BEGAN 


will perch up on a line o’ de trees nighest de fence 
an’ watch for de man-wid-de-go-bang-gun whilst 
you an’ some o’ yo’ Squir’l frien’s clambs over de 
fence into de cornfiel’ an’ does de needful stealin’. 
As you pulls de corn you kin bring out de ears, one 
by one, an’ drop ’um all in a pile des over de 
fence till you gits out enough to divide bewixt 
us, share an’ share alike. Den we’ll all tote de 
ears away deep in de woods far f’om danger, an’ 
we’ll have a feas’ togedder fittin’ for de trouble.’ 

“‘Dat looks tol’able good to me,’ says Mr. 
Squir’l; ‘but, Brudder Jaybird, how is you gwine 
to let us know ef de man-wid-de-go-bang-gun is 
cornin’ our way when you Jaybirds cyarn’t see 
us under de corn leaves busy in de fiel’, an’ 
we cyarn’t no better see you settin’ up in de 
trees ? ’ 

“‘Oh, dat’ll be all right,’ ’sponds Mr. Jaybird, 
‘ bekase we’ll watch moughty keen for Mr. Man, 
an’, up a tree, we kin see him cornin’ moughty 
far olF ; an’ ef we see^ him walkin’ todes you 
Squir’ls, we’ll holler our loudes’, like dis : Jay ! — 
Jay! — Jay! — Jay! — Jay! — which will mean 
git away, git away, quick ; an’ you’ll have plenty 
o’ time to ’scape f’om any danger an’ hide in 
de deep woods until Mr. Man has gone away. 


HOW THE SQUIRREL-JAY WAR BEGAN 87 

An’ ef he stops, we’ll keep jayin’ as long as he 
is in sight.’ 

‘‘‘Dat’s sich a fine projick, Brudder Jaybird, 
you should feel proud of it,’ says simple Brudder 
Squir’l; ‘an’ now I’ll trabel aroun’ in de woods to 
talk it over wid some o’ my frien’s ; an’ we’ll all be 
here come sunrise in de mawnin’. Den, later in de 
day, we’ll all have a corn shuckin’an’ a green corn 
dinner what will be wufF while talkin’ about.’ 

“So, at sunup nex’ mawnin’, dar was Mr. 
Squir’l an’ a crowd o’ his frien’s all settin’ on de 
top rails o’ de cornfiel’ fence, waitin’ for de word 
to go in, an’ dar was Mr. Jaybird an’ his blue flock 
perched in de nighes’ trees on a keen lookout for 
Mr. Man-wid-de-gun. 

“‘Now, Brudder Squir’ls all, we’s ready for 
bizness,’ says Mr. Jaybird who was bossin’ de 
job, ‘an’ you Squir’ls better go right ahead wid 
yo’ corn pullin’. Don’t forgit to fetch out de 
ears as fas’ as dey’s gaddered an’ pile um up 
behine de fence under de bushes till we has a 
plenty for all ban’s aroun’. An’ when we hollers : 
Jay! — Jay! — Jay! — Jay! — an’ we keeps it 
up, you better leave dat cornfiel’ like it was 
afire in a hot fall burnin’, an’ hunt for yo’ tree 
holes in de deep woods.’ 


88 HOW THE SQUIRREL-JAY WAR BEGAN 


‘‘‘All right, in we goes,’ quickly answers 
Brudder Squir’l headin’ his gang. An’ off dey 
all scurries an’ scatters in de corn rows, whar you 
could soon see de tawsels shakin’, an’ hear derest- 
lin’ o’ de leaves an’ de rippin’ o’ de shucks, as dey 
got busy pullin’ de bes’ roasin’ ears an’ bringin’ 
urn out. But befo’ dey’d got de corn pile finished 
to quite de full size, an’ while dey was all back in 
de fiel’ to pull an’ tote out de last turn, Mr. Jay- 
bird suddenly squalls out his loudes’ an’ skeeries’ 
wid de whole flock jinin’ in : 

“‘Jay ! — Jay ! — Jay ! — Jay ! — Jay !’ 

“An’ Mr. Boss Squir’l an’ his corn-pullin’ 
gang drapped all de ears dey had, run like skeered 
rabbits out o’ de cornfieT, hopped over de fence 
in a hurry, an’ rushed away in de woods to hide 
in deir holes till Mr. Man was gone. 

“An’ dar’s whar Mr. Jaybird fooled his 
Brudder Squir’l frien’s moughty bad. Bekase 
he never seed no Mr. Man when he hollered, 
an’ no man wid or widout a gun never showed up 
in or nigh de cornfiel’ all o’ dat day. Maybe it 
was Sunday an’ he’d hitched up his buggy an’ 
gone to chu’ch bofe two times dat same day wid 
de gal he was cotin’. Ef it was Sunday, I’d bet 
dis good ’live mule ag’inst a dead shoat dat ole 


HOW THE squirrel-jay WAR BEGAN 89 


Mr. Jaybird knowed it was; an’ he knowed why 
de man would be missin’ des as well as I knows 
what’s already happen’ to-day. 

“But, however it was, like I said, Mr. Jaybird 
never seed nuttin’ dat even looked like a man when 
he started dat loud jayin’ ’larum accordin’ to de 
j befo’han’ ’greement betwixt him an’ Mr. Squir’l. 
He done it to skeer de whole Squir’l crowd far 
away from de stole’ compile; an’ he had fixed 
up a job wid de Jay flock to keep on jayin’, an’ 
a-jayin’, ard a-jayin’ to de Squir’ls to stay hid 
f’om danger deep in de woods while dey was busy 
wid deir sharp claws at a big corn shuckin’ an’ a 
green corn feast, all to deyse’fs, till dey finished 
de compile. 

“Den Mr. Jaybird made dat meanness o’ 
robbin’ hongry varmints out of a good dinner mo’ 
aggervatin’ by jokin’ Mr. Squir’l an’ jeerin’ at 
him about dat smart trick he had played on him 
an’ his Squir’l gang in deir j’int corn-stealin’ job. 
Wid varmints, like wid mens, de wussest kind 
o’ prank to play on um is meddlin’ wid or stealin’ 
deir grub. So, nacherly, dat double corn-robbin’ 
trick of using him fust, den foolin’ him atterward 
made Mr. Squir’l barkin’, bitin’ mad. He couldn’t 
ketch Mr. Jaybird an’ sarve him right for it : but 


90 HOW THE SQUIRREL-JAY WAR BEGAN 


he moughty soon more’n paid it back by robbin’ 
Mr. Jaybird’s nes’ an’ suckin’ de aigs of all de 
Jaybird famblies he could find ; an’ he kep’ on 
huntin’ deir nesses reg’lar, breakin’ up deir house- 
keepin’ like he was tryin’ an’ hopin’ to ’stroy de 
whole Jaybird breed in de woods. 

“So, way up to dese days, Mr. Squir’l breaks 
up all de Jaybird nesses he happens to come 
across; an’ wharever Mr. Jaybird sees Mr. 
Squir’l robbin’ a cornfiel’ for his breakfas’ or 
nibblin’ a nut for his dinner or supper, or loafin’ 
on a limb, he always calls up all o’ his flock in 
bearin’ to pester an’ peck him back into his hole. 

“An’ all Mr. Squir’l kin do ag’inst sich a big 
crowd is to set up on his ha’nches, an’ in answer 
to deir racket bark : ‘Hush — hush — hush! Hush 
— hush — hush!’ But de fracas most ginnally 
winds up by Mr. Squir’l gwine back home to his 
little holler to git away f’om deir jayin’ an’ pes- 
terin’, like a sensable man goes to bed to ’scape 
too much scoldin’. 

“So it was only dat short corn-stealin’ partner- 
ship what started dat long quar’l ; an’, like many 
a neighborhood fuss, de longer it lasts de wusser 
it seems to git. 

“De slickes’ rogue gwine is de thief dat kin 


HOW THE SQUIRREL-JAY WAR BEGAN 91 

steal rom anudder thief; an’ dat’s Mr. Jaybird 
all over; an’ dar ain’t a bird or a varmint livin’ 
in dis big wide world what kin outwit him! 

“Well, here’s de las’ panel of our fence an’ 
nary a post, picket, nor rail missin’. De sun’s 
growin’ bigger, gittin’ nigher to bed ; an’ it’s 
time for us to be turnin’ back todes home. But 
des’ look at dat corn ! It’s like Pharo’s big crap 
what de preachers tell about in de Scriptur’s!” 


VII 

HOW MR. TURKEY BUZ- 
ZARD BECAME BALD 

I WONDER why the turkey buzzard was 
ever given his fine double name?” cas- 
ually observed Little Boss to Uncle Jason 
as he stood idly watching the old man at work 
among the flowers near the front fence which 
skirted the river road. This remark, prompted 
by the unusually near flight of one of those big 
birds of evil, was unheard or unheeded by Uncle 
Jason, for he kept silent and continued to care- 
fully hoe the tender border flowers near his feet. 
The boy, who was well posted in bird lore for one 
of his years, waited a minute for an answer, and 
then went on : 

“Two very respectable birds were greatly in- 
sulted when our horrible vulture was honored 
with their combined names. He may look a little 
like a turkey, but it is almost enough to spoil 


92 


HOW MR. BUZZARD BECAME BALD 93 

our taste for our Thanksgiving and Christmas 
dinners to call him by the same first name. And 
he does not even belong to the Buzzard family, for 
that is the name of noble birds of the Falcon kind 
which kill their own game, while our American 
turkey buzzard likes much better to have it killed 
for him, without caring for its being kept on ice.” 

Uncle Jason, still continuing his task with the 
same apparently absorbed attention, at this point 
gravely observed : 

“Well, Little Mahster, sometimes you sees 
moughty mean folkses likewise flyin’ under 
moughty fine names. All de birds, big an’ little, 
has to go de way dey was built to go, an’ wear de 
fedders dey was meant to wear, whilst mens wid 
lurge or small names may walk de ways o’ deir 
own choosin’, an’ ack turkey or buzzard as dey 
wills to ack.” 

“But, whatever names they were given, isn’t 
it funny that Nature made the heads and necks 
of the nastiest and the nicest birds in this country 
to look so nearly alike from a little distance,” 
said the boy. The old man with the hoe, after 
some deliberation answered : 

“But dat’s Mr. Turkey Buzzard’s misfortin’ 
more’n ’tis his fault, bekase his lookin’ too much 


94 HOW MR. BUZZARD BECAME BALD 


like a turkey has sometimes brought him into a 
heap o’ trouble. Fs hearn about one or two 
citified huntsmens takin’ Mr. Buzzard roostin’ 
in a tree top for Mr. Wile Turkey when it was 
too early in de dawn or too late in de dusk, an’ 
not Earnin’ better till deir game hit de groun’. 
So, maybe, if Mr. Buzzard had ’a’ had de chance 
to choose his own clo’s he’d ’a’ picked de same 
color as de suit o’ Mr. Crane, or been moughty 
keerful to look only like hisse’f, an’ felt better 
satisfied at dat. But I hear’n dat, when dis ole 
worl’ was consid’able younger, Mr. Buzzard wored 
a full head o’ fedders black as Mr. Crow’s.” 

“Then I wonder how he lost them and became 
so bald-headed and neck-naked as he is nowadays,” 
suggested the boy as seriously as if he fully be- 
lieved that last very astonishing statement. At 
the same time he was extremely curious to learn 
how Uncle Jason was going to satisfactorily ac- 
count for Mr. Buzzard’s present bald-headed 
appearance. 

But Uncle Jason readily met the demand on 
his talents, and, toiling as he talked, proceeded 
with the tale. 

“Mr. Crow was de man who was mostly ’spon- 
serble for Mr. Turkey Buzzard’s losin’ all o’ his 


HOW MR. BUZZARD BECAME BALD 95 

head an’ neck fedders an’ gittin’ bald before he 
got ole an’ gray, like some folkses does in spite 
o’ all de hyar’doctor stuff dey keeps a-tryin’. 
Among de birds o’ de fiel’s Mr. Crow is de same 
as Mr. Fox amongst de varmints o’ de woods ; 
in fack you mought say he’s ruther samer ; bekase 
he has wings to travel furder an’ I’arn more 
wickedness. 

‘^Like I’s des tole you, de time was when Mr. 
Turkey Buzzard wo red black f’om his beak to de 
tip of his tail. His suit was ruther a rusty black, 
fadin’ to brown, not a black black an’ a blue black 
like Mr. Crow’s. In dem bygone times Mr. 
Buzzard an’ Mr. Crow flewed an’ flocked togedder, 
an’ fed togedder too ; but, bein’ de bigges’ an’ de 
hongries’, Mr. Buzzard always managed to git 
much more’n his fair share o’ de grub. Dat 
greatly boddered Mr. Crow an’ his lurge fambly, 
who’s as greedy deyse’fs as any birds gwine on 
feets or wings. So Mr. Crow an’ his folkses had 
many an’ many a cawin’ talk togedder over plans 
an’ projicks to git rid o’ Mr. Buzzard an’ make 
him go off* to look for his boardin’ rations wid 
some fambly nigh de size of his body, an’ of like 
appetites. An’ you knows dat betwixt deir atter- 
supper an’ bedtime a sizable Crow fambly kin 


96 HOW MR. BUZZARD BECAME BALD 


outcaw a big company o’ folkses at a party. So, 
as soon as dey was gaddered in deir tall roost 
tree, caws Daddy Crow, de loudes’ over his noisy 
fambly : 

“‘Talkin’ about what to do wid Mr. Buzzard, 
dar’s Mr. Eagle, an’ dey’s moughty nigh de same 
size; why don’t he go an’ live an’ eat wid Mr. 
Eagle and his fambly instid o’ flockip’ an’ feedin’ 
wid us po’ Crow folkses, eatin’ us out o’ house an’ 
home ? ’ 

“Den, in de ginnal talk gwine aroun’ over dat, 
anudder ole Mr. Crow raised his voice an’ cawed 
hoa’sely : 

“‘Dat’s a moughty good notion o’ your’n, 
Brudder Crow, but de trouble is to work it out 
right.’ An’ den still anudder ole Mr. Crow, lookin’ 
solium as a chu’ch elder, puts in : 

“‘Well, Breddren Crows, you knows Mr. Buz- 
zard an’ Mr. Eagle wears clo’s sumpen alike, only 
Mr. Buzzard’s is a black fadin’ to brown — not 
sich a ’iligious lookin’ black as our’n is — an’ 
Mr. Eagle’s is a rusty brown deepenin’ todes 
black; but Mr. Buzzard’s clo’s mought pass far 
enough in de Eagle color an’ fashion to let him 
j’ine de Eagle fambly an’ fly in deir high com- 
pany.’ 


HOW MR. BUZZARD BECAME BALD 97 

‘‘Den a pyert Smart Aleck of a young crow 
breaks in wid : 

“‘But Mr. Eagle wears a white cap on his 
head an’ a white hood aroun’ his neck, an’ he’s 
moughty proud o’ dem white fedders an’ fixin’s, 
an’ he won’t allow nobody in his company who 
don’t wear de same; Mr. Buzzard’s head an* 
neck fedders is most as black as our’s : how will 
you git aroun’ dat?’ At dat, de ole Mr. Crow 
who’d been talkin’ turned aroun’, frownin’ an’ 
scowlin’ at dat sassy youngster, an’ caws ha’shly 
at him : 

“‘My son, when we needs yo’ advice an’ ’pinion 
in our plannin’ so bad dat we cyarnt git on widout 
it, we’ll ax you for it; but we ain’t reached dat 
p’int yit.’ An’, at dat, smarty young Mr. Crow 
hid his head an’ kep’ moughty quiet. 

‘‘ Den de ole Crows started a cawin’ over de case 
an’ de question all over agin, like de buildin’ of 
anudder tower o’ Babel, till de wises’ ole Crow 
in de flock, who hadn’t said a word befo’, stood 
up on de highes’ limb an’ shouted : 

“‘Brudder Crows all, we ole fogies mought 
sometimes I’arn sumpen f’om de young folkses 
if we gives um a chance ; an’ sonny Crow has hit 
de right idee ; he has put in my head a little plan 


98 HOW MR. BUZZARD BECAME BALD 

to give Brudder Buzzard de proper whitenin’ he 
needs to git into Eagle s’ciety ; an’, ef you’ll stop 
de talkin’ I’ll do de tryin’, an’, maybe. I’ll fix up 
our big frien’ to fly wid de highes’ an’ feed wid de 
bigges’.’ 

‘‘Den dey all agreed to dat; an’, at de fust 
whoop o’ Mr. Hoot Owl, stopped cawin’ an’ 
tucked deir heads under deir wings ; an’ de noisy 
crow roost fell as quiet an’ still as de few new 
stars in de sky. 

“Bre’kfustime de next mawnin’, when Mr. 
Buzzard j’ined de flock, dat cunnin’est ole Mr. 
Crow cawed to him : 

“‘Oh, Mr. Buzzard, how come a fine-lookin’ 
gemman like you is willin’ to flock an’ feed wid 
us po’ black cornfiel’ Crows, common folks as we 
is, when you is so much mo’ fitten’ to fly an’ eat 
wid de Eagles of yo’ own size an’ looks V 

“Mr. Turkey Buzzard never talks any now- 
adays, an’ dey tells me he didn’t say much in 
dem times ; like some folks who don’t waste words 
in eatin’ time. So all he answers to Mr. Crow 
was : 

“‘Pshuh — pshuh — pshuh ! frien’ Crow, you’s 
jokin’ wid me.’ An’ he got busier wid his eatin’, 
while Mr. Crow cawed : 


HOW MR. BUZZARD BECAME BALD 


99 


‘“No, Mr. Buzzard, I wouldn’t joke wid a 
’spectable gemman like you at sich a time as dis ; 
but, truly an’ sho’ly, you’s nigh as big as Mr. 
Eagle ; you wears as good clo’s as him ; you kin 
outfly him, fast or slow, high or low ; you kin out- 
eat him badly; an’ you’s more’n fit to fly in his 
company an’ dine at his fambly table. Now, ef 
you only needs white head-an’-neck fedders to 
go wid sich high-flyin’ folkses, I ken fix you up 
all proper dat way.’ 

‘“How’s dat — how’s dat — how’s dat?’ axed 
Mr. Buzzard, willin’ to lissen to praise, an’ to 
talk, now all de br’ekfus’ was gone. An’ Mr. 
Crow answers : 

“‘Well, de fack is, Mr. Buzzard, dat us Crows 
never lets nuttin’ pass or come nigh us widout 
zaminin’ it keerfully, to I’arn ef it’s fittin’ to eat 
in de fust place, or ef it’s dangersome in de nex’. 
An’ dat’s how I come to find sumpen to fix you 
up all right to keep company wid Eagles.’ 

“De day befo’ dat, f’om a safe distance on a 
dead tree top, Mr. Crow had watched a black 
man whitewashin’ de cornfiel’ fence. When de 
man knocked off work in de noontime an’ went 
home to dinner, he left his big tub half full o’ 
whitewash. When de man was clean gone, in 


lOO HOW MR. BUZZARD BECAME BALD 


co’se, curious Mr. Crow had to fly down an’ see 
what it was. He lit on de fence over de white- 
wash tub to take a close look at it ; an’ den he 
had to hop down on de edge o’ de tub to study out 
what was in it ; nex’ he dipped his big beak deep 
in it to find if it was good to eat or drink. He 
jerked it back quick an’ spit out de bitter tongue- 
burnin’ stuff, an’ flewed away cawin’ like he 
thunk he was pizened. But all de whitewash 
done was to give him a funny white fore-face an’ 
beak, which skeered de whole crow flock out o’ 
de cornfiel’ when he j’ined it. After he lit he 
managed to scratch de damp whitewash off o’ 
his face an’ beak wid his feets an’ claws ; den he 
stopped an’ stood awhile on a clod, wonderin’ 
how in de worl’ he let hisse’f git fooled dat 
bad. 

“So, atter cunnin’ Mr. Crow had talked a 
while longer, stuffin’ Mr. Buzzard about whitenin’ 
him up enough to look like Mr. Eagle, Mr. Buz- 
zard was fooled into gwine to de whitewash tub 
dat same day when de man went to dinner. An’, 
’suadin’ Mr. Buzzard to shet bofe eyes tight, Mr. 
Crow took de smaller corner bresh an’ white- 
washed his head an’ neck till dey was properly 
white. Den he made him set on de fence in de 


HOW MR. BUZZARD BECAME BALD loi 


sunshine till de whitewash coat was right dry 
an’ stickin’ fast, as it should, when he cawed : 

“‘Now, Mr. Buzzard, you looks des’ as fine 
an’ proud as de fines’ an’ proudes’ Eagle dat ever 
flewed in de sky or lit on de Ian’ ; an’ all you has 
to do to git de proper start in Eagle s’ciety is to 
give a big dinner an’ invite all de Eagle fambly 
to it ; atter dat, you kin always fly wid de Eagles 
an’ look down on de Crows.’ 

“ So, whitewashed an’ happy, Mr. Buzzard 
hopped up in de breeze an’ wheeled aroun’ an’ 
aroun’ till he was so high up in de blue sky dat 
he looked no bigger’n a bumble-bee. Den he 
flewed straight away to hunt up Mr. Eagle an’ 
ax him an’ his fambly an’ his frien’s to a fine 
dinner, which he found on his way. Befo’ long 
he met Mr. Eagle sailin’ as high in de sky, wheels 
nigh him, an’ says : 

“‘Howdye, Brudder Eagle, I wants you an’ 
all yo’ fambly an’ yo’ good frien’s to come an’ 
take dinner wid me to-morrer; I’s des’ kilt a 
fat calf a couple o’ hundred miles due souf f’om 
here, an’ I hopes you’ll all come an’ enjoy it wid 
me. ’ 

“‘Thank you kinely, Brudder Eagle, we’ll 
sho’ly be dar,’ ’sponds r’ale Mr. Eagle ; an’ he 


102 HOW MR. BUZZARD BECAME BALD 


sails straight away to tote de good news to his 
fambly an* his neighbors. 

‘‘Well, at de time an’ place app’inted, dar was 
new Brudder Eagle wid de whitewash’-head, 
standin’ beside his dead calf, wid de Eagle com- 
pany ’lightin’ on de groun’ all around him; an’, 
when de last had lit, an’ dey’d all flocked togedder, 
said he : 

“‘Well, Brudder Eagles all, dinner is ready; 
step up an’ let’s begin.’ 

“At dat de fust Mr. Eagle stalks pompiously 
to de feas’ ; an’ bends over for a bite ; but he 
starts back ’stonished, an’ axes : 

“‘Brudder Eagle, did you kill dat calf.?’ 

‘“Why, in co’se I did ! What’s de matter wid 
him?’ answers Mr. Whitewash’ Head. An’ r’ale 
Mr. Eagle ’sclaims, sniffin’ : 

“‘Well, when you was about it, you kilt him 
moughty dead ; too dead for me 1’ 

“An’, in turn, all de tudder eagles dar done 
an’ said de same. Den Mr. Whitewash Head 
started in to cyarve de veal to show all his ‘Brud- 
der Eagles’ how good it was. But, in his hongry 
hurry, he knocked half o’ de dried whitewash 
scale oflF o’ his head fedders, showin’ what he was ; 
an’ his proud company all pitched into him an’ 


HOW MR. BUZZARD BECAME BALD 103 


nigh lammed de life out o’ him for his tryin’ to 
git into s’ciety whar he didn’t belong. 

“When dem Eagles finished heatin’ Mr. Buz- 
zard, dey picked his head an’ neck so bald an’ 
bare he could never fool nobody wid false fedders 
ag’in ; an’ red warts an’ pimples come to stay all 
over whar dey pulled out de fedders. He cotched 
sich a tur’ble bad cole fr’m gwine bare in de wind 
dat he ain’t stopped sneezin’ yit. 

“When de Eagles let him loose in dat bad fix, 
away flewed Mr. Buzzard back to de crows. But 
de Crows made believe dey didn’t know him no 
mo’ ; an’ dey cawed at him to clear out, an’ 
’tacked him in a mad whirlin’ flock till dey chased 
him away altogether. 

“An’ dat’s how Mr. Turkey Buzzard lost his 
top fedders an’ got a bald head, an’ mo’ besides; 
for he didn’t git in wid de Eagles but he got out 
wid de Crows. An’, sence dat time, no bird of 
anudder kind dat flocks in de fiel’s an’ woods, or 
flies among de clouds, will allow him to come into 
deir better company; for he’s hated by birds 
like he’s ’spised by mens.” 


VIII 

FEATHERED SINGERS, 
DANCERS, AND SINNERS 

N ear noon one day in their summer 
vacation Little Boss and his best friends 
were having a very good time together 
in the extensive home garden gathering water- 
melons for a midday feast and a subsequent 
watermelon fight. The pleasure of pulling ripe 
watermelons is much increased because of its 
being a kind of a gamble : ripe, I win ; green, 
the grower loses. The boys followed the rules 
taught them by Uncle Jason : a watermelon is 
ready to be gathered when its curling stem ten- 
drils are dead and dry, and the rind sounds solid 
and full when thumped hard with finger tips. 
When the stem tendrils are still green and the 
rind sounds hollow, however large and tempting 
the melon looks, leave it for later gathering. 
While the three boys were thus gaily engaged, 


104 


FEATHERED SINGERS AND SINNERS 105 


they heard Mingo’s melodious voice singing some 
distance off, down at the end of the garden. Nu- 
merous intervening rows of tall okra plants, pole 
beans, and tomato trellises concealed him from 
sight, but they distinctly heard every word of this 
loud and quaint plantation song : 

THE JAYBIRD SONG 

1 

De Blackbird ax de Jaybird 

What makes him wear gay clo’s, 

He better put on mournin’ 

For all de groun’ is froze; 

An’ don’t he know dat singin’ 

Is harmful to de soul. 

For Satan’s in all music 
Sure’s sugar’s in de bowl ? 

Dis worl’ is full o’ sorrow 
F’om Summertime till spring 
An’ pra’rs an’ hymns is proper 
For dem dat dance an’ sing ! 

2 

De Jaybird tells de Blackbird 
De winter’s sho’ly hard. 


io6 FEATHERED SINGERS AND SINNERS 


But what’s de use o’ grumblin’ 

While hawg-meat has its lard ; 

An’ what’s de use o’ weepin’ 

When singin’ sarves as well, 

An’ winter’ll warm to springtime 
Wid dancin’ for a spell ? 

An’ some dat sings an’ dances 
Mought reach de Th’one-o-Grace 
As well as dem dat preaches 
An’ wears a solium face ! 

The boys soon finished their watermelon- 
pulling, gathered their abundant spoils in one 
spot, leaving them to be hauled to the house in 
Gombo Joe’s light garden cart, and hurried over 
to interview Mingo about the existing conditions 
of bayou fishing. To make their visit more wel- 
come, Little Boss picked up and shouldered the 
largest watermelon of the lot to refresh the toiling 
songster. As they approached him, he started 
his chant all over again, to the accompaniment 
of regular muffled, squashy pats, made by a very 
busy spade. 

They found their ‘‘black boatman” standing 
armpit deep on the damp bottom of a new drain- 
age ditch which he was digging. Booted to the 


FEATHERED SINGERS AND SINNERS 107 

knees, and with arms bared to the shoulders, he 
was dumping the heavy, sticky mud on the bank 
to his right and left with the speed of a steam 
dredging machine. Driving under high pressure, 
he had nearly finished his day’s job an hour be- 
fore his noon dinner — and then no more work 
until the next morning ! 

“Hello, Mingo, how are you getting along.?” 
shouted the three boys joyfully, as they reached 
the busy digger. 

“Why, howdye, young gemmans all!” and 
“po’ly, thank Gawd,” Mingo generally replied. 
The more robust and hearty a plantation negro, 
the more certain is that response to an inquiry 
about his health. This exchange of greetings 
was quickly followed by the question : 

“Mingo, what’s the name of that song you 
were singing just now.? You sung it so finely, 
and it was awfully funny.” 

“Oh — dat .? Dat’s de Jaybird song:” re- 
plied the perspiring digger, gulFawing at the 
praise of his singing, but continuing to work as 
hard as ever. 

“Why is it called the Jaybird song ?” 

“Well, young gemmans, it’s sort o’ dis way” — 
squ’sh 1 fell a spadeful of soft mud — “our colored 


I08 FEATHERED SINGERS AND SINNERS 


chu’ch folks don’t allow no singin’, nor dancin’, 
nor havin’ a gin’nal good time” — slosh ! “Dey 
had me in de chu’ch awhile, but Fs been out of it 
a long time” — smack! — ‘‘bekase dey abused 
me, sayin’ people who follers sich light ways is 
J aybird folks ” — splash 1 — “ an’ dar it is 1 ” 

“But what’s a Jaybird got to do with religion ?” 
asked Little Boss, with intent to toll one of his 
most loyal plantation-henchmen into a tale. 
Omitting the interruptions of the falling spade- 
fuls of mud, which continued all through his 
subsequent remarks, Mingo answered : 

“Well our chu’ch folks calls a man who has 
fun, an’ frolics an’ spotes, de same sort o’ sinner 
among mens as dey says de Jaybird is amongst 
de birds; dey ’cuses him, wid his gay jayin’ an’ 
jiggin’ ways, o’ standin’ in wid ole Mr. Satan; 
an’, wusser’n dat besides, dey claims he’s a reg’lar 
imp o’ Satan an’ dat he totes a dead twig or a 
piece o’ ‘lightwood’ down to de hot place below 
seven times ev’ry Friday o’ de year, to keep de big 
fire down dar blazin’ good an’ proper for sinners.” 

“Oh, you don’t believe that?” cried all the 
boys together, laughing at Mingo’s comically 
grave recital of this familiar and ancient negro 
superstition. 


FEATHERED SINGERS AND SINNERS 109 

“Oh, well, ef you young gemmans will step a 
little furder back so’s not to risk gittin’ splashed 
by my spadefuls o’ sof’ mud. I’ll tell you a little 
tale about dat ; an’ it’s dis : When I fust growed 
up an’ j’ined de chu’ch in a big ‘survival’, I was 
about willin’ to b’leeve all de ole ’ligious folks 
tole me. Dem ten or twelve year-gone I was 
moughty fond o’ watchin’ de birds an’ varmints 
in de woods, whar’ I worked as a woodchopper — 
as fond as I is now — an’ when you walks in de 
woods wid bofe eyes wide open, you may Tarn 
a lot dar. De fust an’ de funnies’ bird you’s apt 
to meet is blue an’ frisky Mr. Jaybird. I had 
hearn de ole folks talk so hard ag’inst him about 
his bein’ ’ceitful an’ sinful an’ his gwine down 
Fridays to see Satan, dat, young an’ boylike as 
I was, I sort o’ b’leeved it ; an’, likewise boylike, 
I watched him close to see his sinful ways for 
myself. 

“Now, all o’ you knows how Mr. Jaybird plays 
his flute an’ jigs aroun’ idlin’ his time away while 
Mr. Blackbird is busy in de fiel’s stealin’ corn 
in de groun’ or on de ear; but, maybe none o’ 
you knows dat sometimes Mr. Jaybird sets alone 
in a leafy tree an’ sings as sweet a chune as any 
Mr. Thrasher ever sings in de brightenin’ o’ de 


no FEATHERED SINGERS AND SINNERS 


dawn or de fadin’ o’ de dusk. When I tole a ole 
black preacher dat much to Mr. Jaybird’s credick, 
he answered me : ‘Any hippercrit is liable to 
sing hymn chunes to hide his wickedness.’ 

“You-all likewise well knows dat Mr. Jaybird 
is ’tarnally teasin’, sassin’ an’ tormentin’ all de 
birds an’ varmints he kin find widout gittin’ into 
danger in his fun; he’ll jay an’ peck at Mr. Pos- 
sum an’ Mr. Squir’l till he runs ’um ’stracted ; ef he 
sees Mr. Owl’s ugly face outside his house, he’ll 
scream like he was laughin’ at it till Mr. Owl 
gits ashamed o’ his own ugly looks an’ hides in 
his holler; he’ll torment Mr. Hawk by mockin’ 
his huntin’ call till he flies out o’ bearin’. 

“But, wid all his fun, Mr. Jaybird is a slick 
rogue; but maybe dat don’t count so much 
ag’inst him wid some ’ligious folks as his singin’ 
an’ dancin’. Wid sich sins as dat — good-by, good 
name ! 

“As I tole you, I studied Mr. Jaybird close an’ 
long; an’ I I’arnt he was a joker, a jigger, an’ 
a rogue ; but I never seed him do nuttin’ wusser’n 
stealin’, nor nuttin’ todes meetin’ Satan, till one 
day he done sum’pen so ’spicious it made me doubt 
him moughty strong. Nigh sundown, one Fri- 
day, I was cornin’ home thew de woods when I 


FEATHERED SINGERS AND SINNERS iii 


seed him flyin’ low wid sumpen in his mouf red 
an’ shiny as a coal o’ fire. He lit on de groun* 
at de foot of a lurge dead tree, which lightnin’ 
had blasted long ago. A burnt, black-dark 
holler, down to de groun’, wid a thunder crack 
for its door, was in its trunk; an’ de rotted tap 
root had left a deep hole in its bottom. 

‘‘When Mr. Jaybird flewed dar quiet, totin’ 
dat red shinin’ thing in his mouf, he lit ; an’ keepin’ 
still as a empty chu’ch, he cocked his head aroun’ 
seven ways for Sunday to see ef anybody was in 
sight. I had hid behine a bush to watch him, 
an’, seein’ nobody, he sneaked into de black holler. 
Right den an’ dar it looked to me like, ef Mr. 
Jaybird meant to meet Satan, he couldn’t find 
no better time nor place to do it; it was Friday, 
an’ he had gone into a dark lightnin’-blasted 
holler ! An’ he never corned out ag’in ; leas’wise 
he didn’t as long as I stay’d dar; but, late as it 
was, I didn’t stay dar overlong to wait for him ! 

“For a time dat sort o’ ’sturbed me; but, 
atterwhile, studyin’ it over hard, I got de straight 
of it : I’d seed dat Mr. Jaybird had many holes in 
de woods whar he hid his found or stole’ grub to 
eat it later. Den, watchin’ him still closer, I 
seed him go sly an’ quiet to dat same lightnin’- 


1 12 FEATHERED SINGERS AND SINNERS 


kilt holler tree any day in de week, let alone 
Friday. So I dares to foller him inside when he 
slips in dar one day. Out he flewed in a hurry, 
an’ hung aroun’ in de nigh trees, jayin’ at me, 
like I was robbin’ his nes’, till I come out ag’in. 

“An’ what you reckon I found ? Nuttin’ but 
a little pile of acorns, some dried-up bird aigs, a 
few bright bits o’ broken chiny, an’ a sparklin’ 
red bloodstone marble taw, which some boy had 
los’ ! ‘An’,’ says I to myself; ^ dis ain’t de kind 

o’ stuff needed to fire up de redhot b’ilers down 
below.’ An’, sence dat day, accordin’ to Sam 
Domingo, Mr. Jaybird an’ Mr. Satan don’t row 
in de same boat ; an’ dat’s why I sometimes sings 
de Jaybird song ! 

“But, ef dey blames Mr. Jaybird for his jig 
dancin’, what dey gwine to say to solium Mr. 
Turkey Buzzard about him dancin’ de Buzzard 
Lope ? All o’ you three boys has seen dat, many 
a time; an’ our quality white folks named one 
o’ de quadrille figgers o’ de gay wintertime balls 
atter it, when sich dancin’ was done.” 

“Oh, yes,” said Little Boss, with a laugh, “we 
have all seen that lively Lope danced by Turkey 
Buzzards an’ people, too; and, in my opinion, 
the Buzzards dance it the best; but, Mingo, 


FEATHERED SINGERS AND SINNERS 113 


we’d like mightily to hear how the Buzzard Lope 
looked to you 

“It looks to me sort o’ dis way; when about 
all de Turkey Buzzards wheelin’ in de sky lights 
on lesser’n a acre o’ Ian’ an’ j’ines in a big dinner 
on a dead horse, mule, or steer, dey bunches up 
moughty black an’ busy at de dinner table ; an’, 
atter de fine feas’, dey all walks away Pom de 
bone-leavins’ an’ forms a big ring, all lookin’ 
solium enough to suit de fun’al dey’d des finished 
wid de proper buryin’ ; an’ dar ain’t a hearse 
driver livin’ who kin look more sollumer. When 
dey all takes deir places in de ring, each Mr. 
Buzzard bobs his bald head low to his nex’ neigh- 
bor, like folks bows to deir lady partners ; den 
dey all starts off slow, hoppin’ low, an’ all gwine 
de same way aroun’ de ring. Back ag’in dey 
lopes a little faster, an’ hoppin’ a little higher; 
an’ soon, backward, forward, an’ back ag’in, live- 
lier an’ higher, dey steps an’ hops in dat ring- 
aroun’ dance, like dey felt as happy as folkses 
in de windin’-up ole Verginny Reel of a big Chris’- 
mas time dance wid all de fiddles gwine, de fire 
blazin’ up de chimbly, an’ de aignogg foamin’ in 
de bowl. 

“Mon, nobody livin’, onless dey seed dat dance. 


1 14 FEATHERED SINGERS AND SINNERS 

would believe solium Buzzards could hop dat 
high an' dance dat gay ; an’ even den dey’d b’leeve 
dey dreampt it when dey seed um windin’ up deir 
ball wid breakin’ into pairs an’ waltzin’ aroun’ 
all over de groun’, tappin’ der wing-tips togedder 
at de finish, des’ befo dey whirls up in de air an’ 
scatters to wheel aroun’ ag’in away up in de sky ! 
Why, dey outdances Mr. Jaybird playin’ his 
own jig chunes ; an’ dat’s de trufe ! 

“An’ I mought tell you about a few mo’ big 
bird dancers befo’ my ditch is done : Dar’s Mr. 
Bugle Crane ; when he an’ his fambly is about 
to fly norf ag’in in de early spring, dey flocks to- 
gedder to have a far’well whoopin’ dance on a 
wide stretch of open groun’. I’s only seen dat 
Crane dance f’om a distance, as dey’ll never let 
folks look at it too close ; but dey talks an’ whoops 
like dey was havin’ a moughty big time. 

“But de clumsies’ an’ funnies’ of all sich big- 
bird frolics is de Pilikin dance, which I’s seed 
when I’s been sail-boatin’ in de summer wid yo’ 
paw an’ some udder spo’tin’ gemmans down 
among de seacoas’ bays an’ islan’s. As he sails 
along slow an’ low over de water, or stands on a 
sand reef wid his big head reared back to hold up 
de heavy grub bag under his chin, Mr. Pilikin 


FEATHERED SINGERS AND SINNERS 115 

beats Mr. Buzzard in ugly looks. When you 
sees about a millium sich in long rows on a reef ; 
an’ dey all breaks loose into dancin’ at once, it 
begins to look like r’ale merriment; it’s de boss 
of all de bird dances, wid de sea waves singin’ 
de chune an’ bearin’ de time. It’s so funny dat 
all de billium seagulls in sight wheels over de 
sandbar to look on ; an’, as dey circles above, 
dey screeches an’ screams wid laughin’ at de 
Pilikin ball. 

‘‘Den ag’in, gittin’ right home, what country 
boy hasn’t seen de barnyard dance ! A hundred 
or so growed hens will be strollin’ about, stoppin’ 
now an’ den to talk, ‘Kyaah, Kyaah, Kyaah’, to 
one anudder; den, quicker’n thinkin’, every ole 
lady hen an’ young pullet in de barn lot will git to 
hoppin’ up an’ runnin’ aroun’ an’ aroun’, dancin’ 
like dey’d been suddintly bewitched by happy 
sperrits. 

“So, ef ole Mr. Satan’s at de bottom o’ Mr. 
Jaybird’s singin’ an’ dancin’, an black folks’ 
plantation corn songs an’ barn-floor jigs, why 
ain’t he des’ as much behine de hens’ barnyard 
dance, de Buzzard Lope, de Bugle Crane’s far’- 
well dance, an’ de gre’t Pilikin ball ^ Ef he is at 
de bottom of all sich frolics, he mus’ want to help 


Il6 FEATHERED SINGERS AND SINNERS 


birds an’ folkses to have sich a happy time in dis 
worF so as to make ’em miss it a heap mo’ in de 
nex’. 

“But hooray for me! My ditch is all dug an’ 
done a few minutes ahead o’ de ringin’ o’ de 
plantation dinner bell! Far’well, young gem- 
mans-all ; an’, Little Boss, I’s more’n much 
obleeged to you for dis fine watermillion ; I’s 
sho’ly gwine down to her all to de rind while my 
dinner is gittin’ ready.” 


IX 

BRUIN’S GHOST IN THE 
HAUNTED WOODS 


O NE of the fastest and most famous of the 
oldtime Mississippi river steamboats was 
running up the river on her first round 
trip under the same name as her recently dis- 
mantled predecessor, and her passing was a matter 
of much interest to all the people of the “River 
Coast/’ It was also an important event to 
Little Boss, who knew the regular schedule of 
all the big boats on the river. When he happened 
to see that new boat coming around the nearest 
bend a mile below, ahead of her time, he ran 
swiftly down to the plantation landing to see her 
go by. When he reached the wharf he found 
Big Mingo already there, waiting for her passing 
with equal interest. 

With joyful face and shining eyes, Mingo was 
watching the rapidly approaching great white 
1 17 


Ii8 BRUIN^S GHOST IN THE HAUNTED WOODS 


steamer. Among his very numerous vocations 
he had followed for a few years the strenuous 
calling of a river roustabout, or deck hand, and 
as such he had worked on the old boat of the same 
name and ownership. The sight of this still 
greater and faster new craft, pounding along up- 
stream with thunderous paddle wheels, filled him 
with pride, excitement, and unbounded enthu- 
siasm. When the boat’s bow came abreast of 
the wharf, he shouted : 

‘‘Gre’t glory, des look at de new Big Injun! 
Ain’t she a river horse ! Ain’t she a-plowin’ up 
de water, th’owin’ her wave furrows f’om bank 
to bank ! Look at de black smoke streamin’ 
straight behind her like a winnin’ race-horse’s tail ! 
Lissen at her wheel buckets hittin’ de track like 
a hundred race-horse feets !” 

In order to take advantage of the dead water 
and up-stream eddies, the racing steamer passed 
near enough to the shore for the recognition of 
those aboard her. Thus, Mingo, seeing some 
of his former fellow deck hands on the freight 
deck forward, roared to them like a megaphone 
such greetings as: ‘‘Hallooo, Yaller-back Bill! 

— Hooray, Duckleg Sam I — Hiyi, Smokey Dick ! 

— Howdye, all o’ you ; an’ I hopes you’ll have a 


BRUIN’S GHOST IN THE HAUNTED WOODS 119 

good time rollin’ cotton cornin’ back down de 
river!” 

These loud salutations were answered heartily 
by a louder roar of mingled shouting, chaffing, 
and guffawing from the black swarm of roustabouts 
clustered like living bees around the capstan on 
the fore deck. Then, when the big side-wheeler 
had sped by, leaving behind the turbid wash of 
breaking waves, Mingo reluctantly withdrew his 
admiring gaze from her receding glory and said 
to the boy beside him : 

“Little Boss, she looks moughty fine, an’ all 
o’ dem gay roustabouts aboa’d has easy loafin’ 
an’ fat feedin’ gwine along light up de river; but 
wait till she comes back down-stream wid a load 
o’ cotton wallin’, in her shinin’ cabin windows; 
den she wont look no finer’n a gre’t big rusty bale 
o’ cotton. An’, wid all dat rollin’ o’ dem cotton 
bales aboa’d, an’ pilin’ um up high as de harri- 
cane deck, workin’ day an’ night, rain an’ shine, 
freeze an’ thaw, dem rousters ain’t much ahead 
o’ me here hoorahin’ at um on dis wharf.” 

Mingo stopped talking to take another long look 
at the vanished steamboat’s high trail of black 
smoke overhanging the trees of an upper bend, 
then he turned back to the boy and continued : 


120 BRUIN^S GHOST IN THE HAUNTED WOODS 


“But when I stopped steamboatin’ some years 
back, it was to try sumpen lookin’ better. One 
day when I was roustaboutin’, loadin’ at a cotton 
landin’ in Mass’ippi State, I hearn dat de colored 
folks on de cotton plantations was gittin’ paid 
a dollar a hundred poun’s for pickin’ seed cotton 
in de fiel’s, an’ dat a good handy man could pick 
f’om three to four hundred poun’ a day, f’om 
sun-up to dark. Rearin’ dat made me look 
moughty hard at de crowd o’ lazy country darkeys 
loafin’ aroun’ de steamboat landin’, an’ some of 
um braggin’ dey could pick dat much cotton a 
day. So I think I could do as much as any o’ 
dem ; an’, in time, I figgered it out it would mean 
makin’ three or four dollars a day. It was de 
middle o’ de fall, an’ all de cotton fiel’s in sight 
was white wid open cotton waitin’ for de pickin’ ; 
so, wid dat trip done, I stopped steamboatin’ to 
try de cotton-pickin’ trade. 

“I fetched up on a plantation in Mass’ippi 
State named Nitola, which de white folks ownin’ 
it claimed was Injun talk meanin’ 'Woods-whar- 
B’ars-Wallers.’ An’ I seed an’ hearn one ole 
Mr. B’ar waller dar, too, ef you’ll b’leeve mcy 
which I’s cornin’ to later. Dat plantation was 
only a few miles f’om a milinary school which 


BRUIN’S GHOST IN THE HAUNTED WOODS I2I 


had a company o’ boy sojers wid brass buttons 
an’ bright guns an’ shinin’ swords an’ fifes an’ 
drums an’ sich. Dem boys was mos’ly bigger’n 
you, an’ some was nigh growed up. 

“Well, one Friday evenin’ dat fall, atter a 
good frost in de mawnin’, when ’simmonses is 
ripe an’ all de woods-nuts is drappin’ freely, about 
a dozen o’ de biggest o’ dem school-boy sojers 
come out to dat plantation to camp for a night 
an’ day in de front part o’ de woods, nigh de main 
road. It was a right big woods, full o’ rough 
ups an’ downs an’ hills an’ hollers. Den de same 
atternoon dey got dar dem frolicsome boys fixed 
up to go coon-huntin’ dat night. Before startin’ 
deir campfire to cook supper, dey made a bargain 
wid a cabin mate an’ cotton-pickin’ partner o’ 
mine, named Big Mose, to bring his dawgs for 
de hunt, an’ guide de gang in de woods. 

“When I fust went dar, Mose I’arnt me how 
to pick cotton ; but in a week I could beat him 
at dat bizness. He never hankered none for 
hard work, an’ he claimed dat follerin’ de plow 
an’ handlin’ de hoe too reg’lar had give him 
rheumatiz in de legs an’ arms, an’ bendin’ down 
pickin’ de low-limb cotton give him neuralgy in 
de neck an’ mis’ry in de back. But, when it 


122 BRUIN’S GHOST IN THE HAUNTED WOODS 


come to varmint huntin’, sich complaints would 
git cured moughty quick; an’ dey’d stay cured 
up to workin’ time. Come dark, he’d swing a 
sharp ax over one shoulder, a heavy sack o’ fat 
pine over tudder, whissle up his dawgs, start for 
de woods ; an’ good-by Mose, till break-o’-day ! 

“Well, accordin’ to his bargain, about eight 
o’clock dat night, off goes Mose wid his dawgs, 
an’ me totin’ de pine-knot bag, to meet de sojer 
boys at de camp. We found um dar waitin’ for 
us wid deir brass buttons shinin’ in de firelight 
like stars, — dey had to leave deir guns at school, 
— an’ up steps Mose, brisk an’ smilin’, sayin : 

“‘Howdye, young white folks-all; here I is, 
you sees, zackly on time ; an’ I brung my partner, 
Mingo, too; to hear him talk he’s de gre’tes’ 
swamp hunter, in Lousyana.’ 

“While Mose palavered longer, I drapped my 
light-wood sack on de groun’ an’ sot down on it, 
wid de dawgs squattin’ behind me in de dark; 
so afeared o’ sich a big bunch o’ white boys dat 
dey wouldn’t go nigher de campfire wid all de 
grub scraps scattered around it. But Mose 
wasn’t dat bashful ; he begged for a good bite 
for him an’ me, to brace us up for de long night 
ja’nt ahead, not sayin’ a word about de big supper 


BRUIN’S GHOST IN THE HAUNTED WOODS 123 


we’d et at our cabin a few minutes befo’ ; an’ I 
has never yet seed de time when I was ready to 
’fuse anudder snack. So, when we finished de 
extry hand-me-out, away we went in de woods, 
de boys whoopin’ an’ skylarkin’, an’ Mose leadin’ 
at a lively gait like his rheumatiz was gone an’ 
forgot. 

‘‘I won’t waste no time tellin’ you about coon 
huntin’ in de cotton country; it’s de same as 
you’s seed often down here ; only here you walks 
in level woods, an’ dar it’s thew ole broom-sedge 
fiel’s, over wooded hills gashed wid gullies, an’ 
across low bottoms an’ branches. Nigh midnight 
I was totin’ two heavy coons, a fat possum, an’ 
de ax over my two shoulders ; an’ Mose was 
busy totin’ de empty pine-knot bag over one, an’ 
talkin’ an’ braggin’ to de boys. 

“Whenever we tarried on stumps an’ lawgs 
while de dawgs was trailin’, a moughty smart 
boy, who could talk an’ ack tur’ble skeery, would 
tell us all some made-up tale about de Injun 
name o’ dat big dark woods, an’ about de sperrits 
o’ de long-gone Injun hunters an’ de gre’t var- 
mints, which was mos’ likely roamin’ dar still. 
Dat boy could tell a ghos’-tale so you seed one 
right dar. So, nigh midnight, Mose said it was 


124 BRUIN’S GHOST IN THE HAUNTED WOODS 


about time to be gwine back home ; an’ he was 
de only one in de gang who knowed de way back ; 
an’ dere was no moon dat night to light us any- 
whars. But me an’ all de sojer boys says to dat : 

“‘Oh, no, let’s make a night of it while we’s 
at it !’ an’ de ghos’-tale teller puts in : ‘An’ maybe 
we’ll meet a live b’ar or a b’ar-ghos’ in sich a 
black night as dis befo’ mawnin’.’ But Mose 
complained dat his leg an’ back mis’ries had all 
come back an’ was beginnin’ to pain him moughty 
bad Torn de night-damp, an’ he mus^ git home to 
ease ’um wid a fire an’ hot water. So away he 
leads wid one leg limpin’. 

“Befo’ goin’ far we seed sumpen moughty 
strange in de black-dark o’ de woods. A short 
distance to de left of us, over de flat top of a high 
hill wid a long slope hung a low an’ lurge glow o’ 
reddish hazy light about as big as a house. It 
would fade until it mos’ died out, an’ den rise 
enough to show dim red in de dark, widout makin’ 
de deep dark all around it any lighter. Wonderin’ 
what made it, we stopped to look at it an’ try 
an’ find out. Some o’ de boys said it mought 
be de light of a lurge jack-o’-lantum, an’ some 
dat it mought be a fox fire light risin’ f’om a long 
rotten lawg layin’ on de groun’ ; an’, in a deep- 


BRUIN’S GHOST IN THE HAUNTED WOODS 125 


down voice, de skeer-tale teller rumbled : ‘No, 
boys, it’s a Injun ghos’ fire in deir ole home woods’ ; 
an’, at dat, ev’ybody laughed but Mose; an’ he 
said sort o’ sickly, like he was feelin’ weak an’ 
wusser : 

“‘Jack-o’-my-lantums never shines on hilltops, 
an’ no foxfire makes a red light in a fawg whar 
dar ain’t no udder fawg nigh ; dat looks to me 
like it mought be de doin’s of a “ha’nt”, an’, ef 
we don’t want to run afoul o’ midnight trouble in 
dese dark woods, we’d better be movin’ on todes 
home instid o’ stoppin’ here to meddle wid some 
‘‘ha’nt” bizness !’ 

“At dat we all tole Mose to wait dar awhile 
till we went to de hilltop to I’arn what de light 
was. What ? Mose stay dar’ by his lonesome 
se’f? No-sar-ree, he would go wid de crowd, 
an’ he clung to it moughty close; an’ his coon 
dawgs kep’ closer to him, crowdin’ one anudder 
out to git nighes’ his heels. Seein’ his dawgs 
ack dat strange way, dingin’ to his heels, briss’lin’ 
up deir hyar, an’ tuckin’ deir tails in tight, made 
Mose begin to beg : 

“‘Young gemmans-all, an’ you growed-up 
Mingo, lissen to me. Hoi’ on dar, an’ let’s turn 
right aroun’ an’ go back home while it’s time ! 


126 BRUIN’S GHOST IN THE HAUNTED WOODS 


You’s gwine blind into some tur’ble danger ! 
My dumb dawgs knows it, an’ dey even smells 
it; an’ it’s skeerin’ um most dead! You’ll sho’ly 
meet trouble on dat hilltop!’ 

“But dem brash boys an’ fool me would keep 
on, an’ Mose felt obleeged to foller; an’ when 
me an’ de foremost boys reached de crown o’ de 
hill, an’ was noisily breakin’ our way thew de 
thick brush aroun’ a little clearin’, dar we sud- 
dintly hearn de clankin’ of a heavy chain ! Den 
a monst’ous, gray, ghos’like B’ar riz up on his 
behine legs an’ stood up like a man, but a sight 
higher; an’ he blowed his hot breaf in our faces 
wid a loud : ‘Woosh !’ 

“At dat, anudder gre’t gray thing layin’ on 
de groun’ a little furder back — which we could 
not make out in de darkness — riz up, heavily 
moanin’ an’ groanin’ ! 

“We didn’t wait dar long enough to look closer 
in de clearin’, nor to lissen for nuttin’ more. At 
only dem awful ghos’ voices Mose let out a yell 
which woke up de woods till de hills hollered it 
back ; an’ he lit out so fas’ down de long hill slope 
dat he tripped over his own fleein’ dawgs. Me 
an’ de boys was tol’able skeered too, but Mose’s 
yell an’ breakaway made it more cotchin’ an’ 



Mose let out a yell which woke up de woods till de hills hollered 
it back.” Page 120. 




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BRUIN’S GHOST IN THE HAUNTED WOODS 127 

wusser; but, de wusses’ of all, when we got well 
started on our hastin’ down de hill, we hearn a 
wile, witch-woman yell, follered by hollerin’ an’ 
jabberin’ on de hilltop ; an’ de dull red light growed 
brighter an’ higher, which sho’ly holped our gait 
gettin’ away a heap. 

“Breakin’ thew de thick underbush an’ over 
de runnin’ branches we had to foller our leader 
home or stay in de woods all night. We couldn’t 
keep him in sight, but it warn’t so hard to foller 
him by soun’ ; an’ Mose led us out o’ dat wilder- 
ness quicker’n his Bible namesake brung de 
Isrumites to Canin. Me an’ dem sojer boys 
didn’t mind a all-night coon hunt ; but we didn’t 
hanker to stay in dem woods atter midnight wid 
sich worrisome things as we’d met up wid dar. 

‘‘When me an’ Mose reached our cabin, an’ 
dem boy sojers reached deir camp, most o’ de 
balance o’ de night was spent befo’ blazin’ fires 
talkin’ about dat midnight wonder in de woods, 
sich as nuther man nor boy had ever seed or hearn 
about befo’. But none of us could study it out; 
so we had to give it up for de work o’ ha’nts, or 
ghos’es, or witches, an’ let it go at dat till we 
I’arnt better. 

“Atter my bre’kfus’ de nex’ mawnin’ I strolled 


128 BRUIN’S GHOST IN THE HAUNTED WOODS 


over to de boy sojers’ camp ; an’ dar me an’ dem 
seed our midnight woods-ghos’es walkin’ in de 
day ! While we was talkin’ about um, here comes 
two o’ dem dark-face kind o’ white folks fo’m some 
worl’-widout-end country in furrin parts. Dey 
was a man an’ a woman wearin’ de brightes' 
colored an’ de dirties’-lookin’ cl’os I ever seed. 
De man was leadin’ a gre’t big yaller-white b’ar 
by a chain, an’ de woman follered behine, ridin' 
a lean gray horse, which likewise carried deir 
camp plunder. When we gaddered at de road- 
side to see de passin’ show, de man stopped, an’ 
Mr. B’ar stood up on his behine legs an’ beat a 
tambourine, an’ hopped aroun’ holdin’ it out an’ 
beggin’ for somebody to drap money in it, wid 
his ‘woosh-woosh-wooshes!’ like he had hollered 
on dat hilltop. An’, while Mr. B’ar was dancin’, 
dat tired, over-loaded ole gray horse tried to lay 
down, groanin’ like he done when we woke him 
in de midnight ; an’ de woman hollered an’ 
jabbered at him wid de same wile witch talk we 
had heard in de dark woods, when our runnin’- 
away racket roused her an’ she got up an’ throwed 
dry brush on deir burnt-down campfire, whar 
dey’d spent de night. 

“Dat was de funny finishin’ o’ my fust an’ 


BRUIN’S GHOST IN THE HAUNTED WOODS 129 


las’ coon hunt in de hill country. About dat time 
I cotched my partner, Mose, borrowin’ my seed 
cotton to holp out his pile at de weighin’ scales; 
an’, when we parted, he limped one way to look 
for de doctor, an’ I traveled de udder to miss 
meetin’ de constable. No mo’ cotton country for 
me. Little Boss ; dis sugar country is good enough 
for me. Here I was bawned, here I was raised, 
an’ here I hopes to die when de time comes for 
Sam Domingo to go.” 


X 


BIG MINGO, THE BAYOU 
BOATMAN 

W ITH joyful whoops and clattering feet 
Little Boss and his two visiting boy 
friends bounded down the wide front 
steps of the plantation mansion on their way to 
find Uncle Jason. This was on a Friday after- 
noon of October; and the boys were in a hurry 
to talk with the old man about an excursion 
proposed for the morrow. They had just been 
informed by Mademoiselle, the governess, that he 
was out in the front grounds preparing a bed in 
which to plant the cuttings of some winter-bloom- 
ing roses. Thus, after running down the steps, 
racing over lawns, and dashing through hedges 
for nearly two hundred yards, they rushed upon 
the old colored man at his work. 

With line and stakes Uncle Jason was marking 
off the borders of Mademoiselle’s large rose bed 
130 


BIG MINGO, THE BAYOU BOATMAN 131 


before beginning its digging. Another very black 
and very big negro, nearing middle age, stood 
holding the other end of the measuring line and 
stooping to drive a sharpened marking stake 
down into the ground with the back of a spade. 
When the boys came up, the stake driver straight- 
ened up with interest, giving them a cordial greet- 
ing; and the old gardener followed his salutation 
with the question : 

“What new projick has you got on han’, young 
gemmans, to bring you here like young wile 
horses?” 

“We are going fishing far down the bayou to- 
morrow,” panted Little Boss after his hard run; 
“and. Uncle Jason, my father says you may go 
along with us if you think you can spare the 
time ?” 

“Arn harn ! An’ how’s de gyarden gwine to 
grow an’ take keer of itself wid me turned play- 
boy ag’in ?” 

“But father says you can be spared for just 
one day; and he told us too that he believes you 
know every fish in the bayou by its first name 
and the best places to catch them ; an’ you’ll 
bring us big luck.” 

“Well, well, well,” replied the highly pleased 


132 BIG MINGO, THE BAYOU BOATMAN 

and flattered old man ; “ yo’ paw knows all about 
dat. Talkin’ about de ole times, I use’ to take 
him out in de bayou when he was a boy, an’ I 
I’arnt him how to ketch fish an’ shoot ducks an’ 
sich ; all o’ dat’s done an’ gone for long now ; 
but I’ll go wid you to-morrer, seein’ you wants 
me so much, an’ show you how much I’s forgot 
about fishin’ sence den.” 

“Mingo, he told us we might take you too, 
to help row the boat, if we could find you around 
here so near the end of the week ; and he says if 
you go with us, it will be put down as a day’s 
work on your plantation time ” 

“Yas-sar-ree, Little Boss, dat I will; what de 
‘Big Boss’ says always goes wid Sam Domingo! 
I’s a reg’lar Bayou Boatman, I is, an’ I’ll go wid 
you, in de water or de woods, whar oars kin row 
or feets walk!” Then this jolly black giant 
finished his wordy assent with a loud guffaw, 
and stuck his spade deep in the ground with a 
stroke that made its tough handle quiver. 

Mingo was quite an amusing character to the 
local white population. When he reached man- 
hood he bore his rightful name of Sam Green. 
Then he had been temporarily converted by a 
noisy negro preacher in a passing colored revival. 


BIG MINGO, THE BAYOU BOATMAN 133 


In the consequent ‘^gre’t baptizin’” he had been 
submerged in a shallow of the Mississippi River, 
with much shouting by the elect ashore. But, 
only a few months later, a waggish white overseer 
happened to give him a much more acceptable 
name, several times calling him ‘‘San Domingo” 
because he was so intensely black. Sam Green 
was ignorant of the name or the existence of the 
noted negro republic, and understood the pro- 
nunciation of this nickname to be Sam Domingo. 
With the characteristic negro liking for long and 
sonorous names, he was so delighted with this 
last new one that he immediately dropped the 
Green and adopted the Domingo ; and thereafter 
he insistently and forcefully demanded that all 
of his relatives and friends should use it ex- 
clusively. They willingly complied, but for con- 
venience, they soon foreshortened the new name 
to Mingo. 

Those unfamiliar with the race can hardly 
imagine how many million similar whimsical 
changes of name have been made among our 
Southern negroes since the advent of freedom ! 

Later, to suit his dimensions, the plantation 
negroes enlarged Mingo’s name to Big Mingo. 
Most of the colored folk admired and envied 


134 big MINGO, THE BAYOU BOATMAN 


him ; for his great strength enabled him to escape 
being a steady tiller of the soil, year in and year 
out. He worked by task, or by the job, and was 
jack of many trades, such as ditcher, woodchopper, 
fireman of the sugar factory, and all-around handy- 
man, spades being his long suit. With the mus- 
cular power to perform a full day’s work in a 
forenoon, or to finish a week’s task in three days, 
he had plenty of leisure time. The man’s strength 
was truly marvelous, and was often exhibited in 
astonishing feats before white and black specta- 
tors ; but, among his colored friends, his most 
admired, envied, and champion feat was the 
eating of a whole boiled ham, with its propor- 
tionate accompaniment of cornbread and greens, 
at a single meal, on a white man’s wager ! And 
the amused witnesses stoutly maintained: ‘‘he 
still remained hungry for more!” 

This human marvel of muscle and voracity 
was as fond of the water and its fishes as an 
otter. In his long and frequent idle spells, or 
“rest times” to which he was addicted, he went 
off on the bayous for weeks at a time, wandering 
for miles in a pirogue (a small canoe), camping 
ashore wherever night found him, and feasting 
on fish and game of the marshes. There he 


BIG MINGO, THE BAYOU BOATMAN 135 


happily consorted with a class of nomad white 
market hunters and trappers, with which he 
proudly claimed membership, and consequently 
called himself a Bayou Boatman. 

Sam Domingo was as amiable and good-natured 
as he was big and strong, and was well liked by 
all of the white boys of that neighborhood. He 
was almost sure to be found at their baseball 
match games as the most enthusiastic rooter, and 
at their less frequent but more interesting pony 
races on the public road, where he was the loudest 
shouter for the winning horse. Therefore the 
assurance that Big Mingo would row their boat 
enhanced the anticipated pleasure of the boys in 
the proposed fishing trip down the bayou. 

Leaving his spade sticking in the ground, 
Mingo asked : 

“Has you boys got plenty o’ bait? In dis 
fresh fall wedder de basses an’ crappies an’ pyerches 
will bite moughty fine ; nice red earthwurrums 
an’ white groun’ grubs is what dey grabs de 
greedies’ at dis season. You-all kin take my 
spade, an’ git two mo’ Pom de tool house, an’ 
dig all o’ de wurrums you wants right here in dis 
staked-off gyarden bed ; an’ while you’s at dat 
job. I’ll step down to de river an’ drap in my 


136 BIG MINGO, THE BAYOU BOATMAN 

swimp bag to ketch de beatines’ bait gwine for 
all fish in ginnal an’ big bayou cats in ’ticular.” 

After making this suggestion Mingo walked 
away, singing a plantation song in a melodious 
falsetto voice; and, as he went homeward. Uncle 
Jason watched him with a suspicious smile and 
doubting nods until he disappeared in the shrub- 
bery, when he exclaimed : 

“Des look, will you, how dat lazy Mingo has 
slipped away Pom his work an’ leP lone me to 
dig up all o’ dis gyarden bed ! But, nummine. I’ll 
git even wid him yit, an’ ketch up wid him some 
time or udder !” 

The black boatman strolled leisurely to his 
cabin in the quarters to procure the necessary 
equipment for his purpose ; and, this done, walked 
as deliberately riverward, with his shrimp bag 
slung over his broad back and a large tin bucket, 
containing a coiled catfish line, hanging from his 
huge right hand. 

The primitive net most used for catching 
Mississippi River shrimp is made of an empty 
corn sack, with a barrel hoop stitched in its mouth 
to keep it wide open, a rope hauling line attached 
to the hoop, and a brick in its bottom for a sinker. 
With great numbers of such shrimp bags are 


BIG MINGO, THE BAYOU BOATMAN 137 


caught the countless bushels of fresh-water or 
river shrimp eaten in the city restaurants and 
the country residences of the Louisiana “River 
Coast.” 

When Mingo had sauntered to the outer edge 
of the plank-covered wharf at the steamboat 
landing, he baited his shrimp bag with a double 
handful of raw hominy and a venerable ham bone, 
too bare for further attacks of his teeth, dropped 
in his brick sinker, lowered the bag several feet 
below the surface of the water, and fastened its 
hauling rope to a wharf post. Then, with con- 
tinued song, he waited a few minutes, after which 
he hauled up the- bag again and found enough 
nimble shrimps in its bottom to bait the numer- 
ous hooks of his long catfish hand line. Then 
he heaved the bag overboard again for further 
service. This done, he stood up straight, whirled 
the heavy lead sinker of the hand line several 
times around his head, let it go with a final power- 
ful swing and a loud grunt, and flung all the forty 
fathoms of its length straight out into the chan- 
nel. Then he tied the inboard end of his line to 
another wharf post, and comfortably reclined on 
the wide planks in the pleasant afternoon sun- 
shine, where he rested and waited, for the river 


138 BIG MINGO, THE BAYOU BOATMAN 


shrimps and catfish to do their share of the work 
in hand and come along and catch themselves, 
sooner or later. 

Soon, with the cheerfully abandoned spade, 
two more, and three small tin buckets to hold 
their bait, the three boys were digging up the 
ground like busy gophers, while Uncle Jason 
looked on approvingly, commending their energy, 
and rejoicing over their capture of especially 
large and juicy wigglers, pronouncing such to be 
the best baits known for this or that kind of fish. 
Before sunset the diligent diggers had filled their 
buckets with worms and grubs loosely packed in 
crumbled earth to be kept alive as long as they 
might be needed. They had also spaded up and 
thoroughly pulverized every square foot of Made- 
moiselle’s rose bed ; and, as they were dusting 
themselves ofF after their arduous toil, that young 
lady herself appeared on the scene to learn about 
the progress of the work. Surprised and de- 
lighted at finding it finished, and so well done, 
she exclaimed : 

‘‘Oh, Uncle Jason, you have done this work 
so finely : how did you finish it so quickly 

Greeting her with a bow and a beaming smile, 
the old man waved his right hand toward the 


BIG MINGO, THE BAYOU BOATMAN 139 


boys to show her that they deserved her mis- 
placed praise; and she very gratefully thanked 
them. 

“It was just perfectly lovely of you boys to 
do so much for me; and I am ever so much 
obliged to you.” 

The flush of recent warm work on the boys’ 
faces reddened deeper with blushes of embar- 
rassment ; and, as they remained mute, Uncle 
Jason came to their rescue. 

“Mamzel, dese young gemmans has made a 
good job o’ dis piece o’ diggin’, an’ dey should 
feel proud o’ yo’ praise; but dey done it j’inin’ 
deir pleasure wid yo’ profick ; for, while dey spaded 
up dis flower bed for you, dey dug up enough 
bait to ketch a good boatload o’ fish for deyse’fs.” 

From the following merry laughter the boys 
beat a hasty retreat to the rear of the residence, 
where they hung their bait buckets on hooks 
beneath the elevated back gallery in a special 
storing place for fishing gear and light boat 
equipment. While they were there, Mingo ap- 
peared with about half a peck of river shrimp in 
a willow basket under a covering of water-soaked 
moss. He hung his basket of “swimps” near 
the other bait, and departed with the promise 


140 BIG MINGO, THE BAYOU BOATMAN 

to have the boat ready and waiting long before 
daylight. 

Most boys in their joyful preparations for a 
far-away fishing excursion tax their muscles and 
minds with more things that must be done, and 
other things that must not be forgotten, than do 
the soldiers of a regiment getting ready for a 
long march. Thus, after getting their bait, these 
three boys had to fix up their fishing tackle, fill 
several jugs with fresh drinking water, hunt up 
the hostler and instruct him to have a wagon ready 
to carry them and their plunder to the boat in 
the darkest hour before the dawn, and see the 
plantation night watchman about being posi- 
tively sure to wake them up at four o’clock in 
the morning. 

Last, and most bothersome of all, was the 
lunch question. In putting it up much doubt 
was expressed as to whether a large boiled ham, 
two roasted hens, half a dozen loaves of bread, 
about a peck of beaten biscuit, a quart jar of 
fig preserves, and a large pot of coffee would 
furnish full rations for three growing boys and 
two grown men, counting Big Mingo as one 

At last they had attended to everything they 
could think of, and supper time arrived at just 


BIG MINGO, THE BAYOU BOATMAN 141 


the right moment. That meal, which was im- 
mensely enjoyed, was much enlivened by chaffings 
and predictions about the return of fisherless 
fishermen, or with encouraging prophecies of 
success from those unable to share the joys of 
the morrow. 

Finally their busy day was done; and, excited 
with anticipation, the boys all went to bed in 
the same back room, whose doors and windows 
opened on the rear gallery, accessible to the night 
watchman’s call without disturbing other slum- 
berers. After much talk concerning the glorious 
possibilities of the morrow the three gradually 
became silent in restful, sound sleep. 


XI 

MORNING IN THE LOUISI- 
ANA MARSHES 

M any knocks on the back door of their 
bedroom were needed to awaken the 
sleeping lads and they were very much 
surprised at being aroused so soon after going to 
bed, feeling sure that they had fallen asleep only 
a few minutes before. But those words, ‘‘Time 
to get up. Little Boss!’’ heard between the 
repeated knockings, were in the well-known voice 
of the night watchman waiting on the back gal- 
lery, and it was the light of his lantern that shone 
through the back windows of their room and 
cast moving shadows on the opposite wall. At 
first it was hard for them to get wide awake at 
such an unusual hour; but, when they did, joy 
and excitement quickly rose in their hopeful 
young hearts. The little clock on the mantel 
showed that they had been called to the minute; 


142 


MORNING IN LOUISIANA MARSHES 143 


and they hurriedly dressed, and were handed the 
customary small cup of morning coffee, which the 
watchman had ready for them — for down in the 
Louisiana Lowlands, no native starts anywhere 
for any purpose without previously fortifying 
himself with that bracing and cheering beverage. 

Thrilled with the spirit of adventure, they 
noiselessly left the house and found the wagon 
waiting for them on the rear driveway. The 
watchman’s lantern light showed Uncle Jason 
on the driver’s seat beside the hostler, and their 
necessary equipment and provisions all snugly 
loaded in the bottom of their vehicle. The boys 
climbed in, crowded into the back seat, and joy- 
fully went their way. Within twenty minutes 
they reached the head of a wide and deep drainage 
canal which led through a belt of woods to the 
much wider bayou. 

In that canal lay a light and shapely little row- 
barge, about twenty-four feet long and four feet 
wide, which was fitted with rowlocks for four 
oars either handled singly with a rower at each, 
or used in pairs — one man to a pair — by men 
powerful enough to pull them double. A boat- 
lantern in her bow showed Mingo already on 
board according to promise, with bale scoop and 


144 MORNING IN LOUISIANA MARSHES 


sponge in hand, just finishing his task of getting 
her dry and clean for service. The light rudder 
had been shipped, and two long oars lay in their 
places on each side of her. The boys and Uncle 
Jason were soon aboard with their belongings, 
Mingo pushed her out from the bank with the 
boathook, seated himself on a forward bench 
with a pair of oars, while Bumble and Hopfrog 
each ran out a single oar, starboard and port, 
from two benches farther aft. Little Boss sat 
astern holding the tiller ropes, as steersman or 
coxswain, while Uncle Jason, as a passenger, 
sat in the stern sheets near the young captain of 
the craft. 

When they started on their cruise, the darkness 
in the eastern sky was beginning to turn to dull 
gray; but soon this faint tint was lost in the 
gloom of the woods through which their passage 
wound; and Little Boss had to steer by ‘‘dead 
reckoning”, as he called it, a term he had learned 
from the nautical lore of Fenimore Cooper. But, 
when the forest was left behind and the boat 
reached the ever-widening bayou which wound 
its serpentine way through the marshes, the first 
red flush of dawn hung over the far horizon. 
Soon a bar of gold brightened the lower edge of 


MORNING IN LOUISIANA MARSHES 145 

the dawn’s dull red ; and the light of a new day 
began to awaken the wild things .of that wide 
level waste. Little marsh wrens were the earliest 
risers, as their cheery twittering and chirping 
came first from the brakes bordering the bayou. 
Soon followed the noisy cackling of a single 
marsh hen, to be immediately answered from near 
and far by the loud voices of innumerable birds 
of its kind, and a chorus of sharper notes from as 
many clapper rails. Then, with whistling wings, 
a large flock of teal whirred swiftly along, low 
overhead, and, startled at their too-near view of 
the boat, wheeled from its flight far away over 
the marsh. Next a great gray heron, nearly as 
tall as a man, came flying with slowly flapping 
wings from its marsh roost to the water, set its 
long, bowed wings, lowered its stilt legs, and 
alighted on a promising shoal around a bend in the 
bayou ahead of the boat. When the boat rounded 
the intervening point, surprising and alarming 
that immense bird, it quickly rose with hoarse 
croaks of protest at this unreasonable interrup- 
tion of its early morning fishing and flew back to 
its hermit home with labored flight and gradually 
subsiding voice. 

Low in the east more vividly flamed the crimson 


146 MORNING IN LOUISIANA MARSHES 


and gold, and marsh birds of many more kinds 
woke to chirp, warble, cackle, and croak in the 
reeds and rushes, or to rise in the misty air to 
seek food in the shoal water. At the sudden 
appearance of the boat, marsh bitterns or ‘‘sun- 
gazers” and small green herons promptly stopped 
their fishing from the bayou bank and ludicrously 
and awkwardly flew up and away in squawking 
terror. Then the rare purple gallinule, the most 
beautifully plumed bird of its species (rail), was 
seen walking with stately steps on the narrow 
raft of green water lilies and lotus leaves which 
lined the edge of the bayou. With a crimson 
comb for his crown, and arrayed in royal purple 
plumage, this bird deserves the name given him 
by negroes and marsh hunters. 

“Des’ look at dat proud Mr. King Rail!” 
exclaimed Uncle Jason, as he watched this bird 
standing on a large floating lotus leaf near, with- 
out apparent fear of his human admirers. “He 
always looks an’ walks like he knows well enough 
dat he wears de fines’ fedders of all de birds in 
dis wilderness; but plump Madam Ma’sh Hen, 
wid her common brown frock, is wuff* two of him 
for de eatin’, bekase he’s all gay fedders an’ little 
good meat. But it’s much de same wid birds 


MORNING IN LOUISIANA MARSHES 147 


an’ men ; good looks an’ good clo’s is sometimes 
moughty ' deceivin’.” 

Then, most amazingly huge, rose the sun, 
gilding the greens and grays and browns of the 
marsh and the light, low-hanging mist above it 
until the wide wastes of lowland and water seemed 
to be gorgeous realms of some strange world. 
But the white boys and black men in the boat were 
much more interested in the wild life of the land 
and water than they were in the scenic beauty of 
sunrise over the marshes. Mingo, keen and alert, 
was continually calling the boys’ attention to the 
manifest presence of fish : sometimes it was the 
turbulent plunge of a great “gyarfish” which had 
been touched by the top of an oar, or the noisy 
breaks of big bayou cats scared by the passing 
boat, the ripple-streaked darts of big-mouth bass 
after fleeing minnows, and the frequent snappy 
pops of goggle-eyed perch, feeding near the 
grassy edge of the bayou. Uncle Jason also 
was eagerly watching water and shore. 

“Look at dat fresh otter slide on de lef’ bank !” 
cried he. “It’s de play-place of a moughty big 
one too ; an’ look a-yander, a little furder down ! 
I’s gittin’ blind ef dat ain’t Mr. Mink dodgin’ 
along in de short grass at de edge o’ de water. 


148 MORNING IN LOUISIANA MARSHES 


Look at him stretchin’ his long snakey neck to 
see us better; he’s afeared to jump in an’ begin 
his mawnin’ fishin’ ontil we passes by.” 

When the hiding mink was left behind, Little 
Boss called attention to a black speck moving 
in the still water some distance ahead, leaving 
two widening lines of ripples in its wake. Uncle 
Jason quickly accounted for it. 

‘"Dat’s Mr. Mushrat on his way to town. 
About forty year’ back, his gre’t-grandaddy 
started a big town in de ma’sh furder down de 
bayou; dat town got ’stroyed once, but it was 
built ag’in, an’ it’s growed a heap sense den. 
We’ll stop in de bayou across f’om it to begin our 
fishin’. Sich varmints seems to like livin’ in 
towns same as folkses too triflin’ to grow craps 
an’ work in de wedder, rain or shine, warm or 
cole, like we has to do on de sugar plantations, 
an’ fight de big ole river between times.” 

The boat had almost reached the swimming 
muskrat when it turned directly toward the bank, 
dived, and was seen no more, probably reaching 
“town” by an underground way. A populous 
muskrat village, composed of many mounds of 
dead marsh growth, covered a considerable space 
near the left bank of the bayou. Its streets were 


MORNING IN LOUISIANA MARSHES 149 


narrow and mucky surface runs and more watery 
tunnels. These mound-building eaters of marsh 
roots and herbage appear to belong rather to 
the beaver than to the rat family, judging by their 
shapes, habits, and food. 

‘‘Now, young Cappen, swing her in close to de 
right bank ; all you oarsmens take in yo’ oars ; 
an’ we’ll stop here an’ try our luck wid de lines,” 
directed Uncle Jason. 

The barge was steered and stopped accordingly; 
and made fast to a fisherman’s stake by her 
painter rope. Four lines were quickly rigged 
to light, long, limber rods ; wriggling worms or 
lively shrimp were duly impaled on the hooks; 
and the sport began. 

The tackle of these three country boys con- 
sisted of slender bamboo-cane “fishing-poles”, 
thin strong lines the same length as their poles, 
boy-loved cork floats, buckshot sinkers, and small 
limerick hooks. Mingo’s tackle was even more 
primitive. His fishing rod was an ash sapling 
fifteen feet long, whittled down to but little less 
than the thickness of a hoe handle, and to that 
was attached a strong hempen line armed with 
a huge stout hook, unbreakable by a fair-sized 
shark. He stood up on the short extreme bow- 


150 MORNING IN LOUISIANA MARSHES 


bench of the boat, to more handily hold and wield 
this weapon of warfare against fish. He was after 
large catfish and hoped to hang a big alligator gar. 
Uncle Jason also cast in a line, but was better 
pleased to watch, with advice and expressive 
interest, the sport of his three young friends. 

The best of the fishing began soon after sunrise 
and lasted two or three hours and the boys were 
kept very busy and excited with success. Their 
prize captures were ‘‘green trout’’ (really large- 
mouth bass), running from one pound to three 
pounds. They caught as many crappies, which 
the Creoles call “sacalait.” This is the most 
beautifully colored and marked fish of the perch 
family in the Louisiana bayous, with its upper 
half vivid green, its lower milk-white, and many 
velvety black spots on its sides. Their most 
numerous and gamey captives were goggle-eye 
perch averaging about half a pound in weight. 
In their liveliest fishing there was no wearisome 
watching of motionless floats, but the corks 
bobbed under as fast as they touched the water. 

Mingo, who was out for “big fish in gin’nal an’ 
bayou cats in ’ticular”, took several eight or ten- 
pound “cats” in out of the wet before he satisfied 
his longing to “hang a six or seven-foot gyarfish.” 


MORNING IN LOUISIANA MARSHES 1 51 


The alligator gars of the Gulf-marsh bayous 
are monsters which sometimes grow to a length of 
twelve feet. Their heads are like an alligator’s, 
their bodies like a huge pike’s, and their hides are 
as hard as a crocodile’s, while their hideous long 
jaws are armed with terrible teeth. Only negroes 
eat them, with a valuation probably based on the 
quantity of their meat. They claim that “barbe- 
cued gyarfish, eaten f’om de inside out to de hide, 
is moughty good eatin’ ”, but it would be wiser to 
take their word for it without risking a trial. 

Mingo’s hopes to hang such a prize were happily 
fulfilled near the middle of the forenoon. Still 
standing on the short bow bench, he struck and 
firmly hooked a lazily-biting seven-foot gar, 
following the successful upward jerk of his rod 
with a loud yell of triumph. The stroke aroused 
the sullen monster into violent activity. It 
pulled like a wild horse when it first feels the 
capturing lasso. Mingo braced his big feet against 
the starboard rail and leaned back far to port in 
effective resistance for a time but in the most 
desperate plunge of the powerful fish for the deep 
channel, the ash rod broke clean across the 
middle. The alligator gar dashed channelward 
with hook, line, and half the rod, and the suddenly 


152 MORNING IN LOUISIANA MARSHES 

unbalanced fisherman tumbled backward over 
the port bow into the bayou with a tremen- 
dous splash, going entirely under the neck-deep 
water. But Mingo quickly bobbed up his head ; 
and, as he came up standing on the bottom, 
sputtering and blowing, his guffaws at his ludi- 
crous mishap were louder than all of the combined 
laughing, yelling, and whooping which hailed 
his reappearance. Still shouting with glee at 
his ridiculous predicament, he waded the short 
distance to the shore and climbed out on the 
low bank. The boys quickly landed the boat, 
collected a pile of drift wood, and built a rousing 
fire to dry the drenched and dripping ‘‘gyar 
fisherman.” They then handed him a liberal 
hunk of ham and a loaf of bread with which to 
while away his drying time, and left him. 

After that recent commotion in the water it was 
immediately and unanimously decided to change 
the fishing ground to the opposite side of the bayou, 
near the muskrat village. As they were crossing 
over. Uncle Jason, with the joy of a prophet see- 
ing his prophecy so soon fulfilled, exclaimed : 

‘‘Young gemmans, what did I tell you-all 
yistiday atternoon when Mingo dodged us an' 
left us to dig up dat rose bed Didn’t I say I’d 


MORNING IN LOUISIANA MARSHES 153 


git even wid him sooner or later ? An’ dar he is, 
settin’ half-drownded on de bayou bank, an’ 
here we is, dry an’ happy in de boat ! An’ 
maybe dat big ole Mr. Gyarfish meant to give 
Mingo anudder baptizin’ to git his name back to 
Sam Green, like he was born wid.” 

Near noon when, as usual, the fish stopped bit- 
ing, Hopfrog happened to see a very large musk- 
rat leave the bottom of the nearest village mound, 
and waddle to the bank, only a few yards from the 
boat. He called the other boys’ attention to the 
clumsy creature, and they all expressed surprise 
at its indifference to their presence. 

‘‘Now you’ll see Mr. Mushrat’s comical way o’ 
washin’ his face an’ fixin’ hisse’f up to go visitin’”, 
said Uncle Jason. “He hates a all-over wash wid 
water wusser’n some boys does, an’ he thinks de 
win’ will do des’ as well, an’ water is only fit for 
gwine swimmin’ in.” 

The muskrat soon confirmed this prediction by 
taking an indifferent look at the water near his 
feet; then he squatted over it on hi^ hams and 
began to scrub all of his face and head with the 
spread toes of his forefeet, just as human hands 
and fingers are used in a thorough face washing. 
When this was satisfactorily finished, he raked his 


154 MORNING IN LOUISIANA MARSHES 


body and raised and cleaned his fur all over with 
his fingerlike toes, then licked it smooth again, 
and waddled away. 

This amusing performance was carried out 
exactly as foretold by Uncle Jason who was so 
much pleased thereby that he promised to tell 
the boys, on the homeward way, a story about 
the many “worries an’ meanderin’s of ole Mr. 
Muskimus”, one of the departed forefathers of 
that same village. 

“But, young gem’mans,” said he, “I ’spect 
Mingo is well dried out by dis time, an’ I guess 
he’s gittin’ ruther hongry ag’in ; we mought as 
well row back across de bayou an’ give him a little 
bite an’ warm up de coffeepot an’ brile a few 
fish on de coals to eat sumpen ourse’fs.” 

This timely suggestion was heartily indorsed 
and followed by immediate action. At the subse- 
quent feast of fish, flesh, and fowl, the three boys 
and Uncle Jason enjoyed more than “aplenty”; 
and Mingo left no fragments on the bank to feed 
the hungry birds and beasts of the marsh wilds. 

Then, after lounging awhile in the sunshine 
ashore, the party embarked, with enough fish to 
boast about for the next month, and turned the 
boat’s bow homeward. 


XII 

THE MEANDERINGS OF MR. 
MUSKIMUS 

T he regular strokes and rhythmic drip 
of the oars accompanied Uncle Jason’s 
voice as he related his promised tale, 
during the return up the bayou. Absently 
watching the reedy banks slip by, as the barge 
sped homeward, he drifted into it musingly. 

“How time does fly; thirty or forty year’ 
goes swiP an’ easy as dis boat turns a bayou bend ; 
an’ when yo’ paw was only a boy, me an’ him met 
up wid de gre’t-grandaddy o’ dat ole Mr. Mushrat 
which we seed washin’ his face in de win’ nigh his 
town; an’ de fust one was as funny an’ foolish 
as de las’. We found him once an’ often washin’ 
his face de same way in de same place, an’ yo’ 
paw got to callin’ him Mr. Muskimus, bekase he 
smelt so strong. His town had only a few houses 
dem times, but it’s growed a sight sence den. 

ISS 


156 THE MEANDERINGS OF MR. MUSKIMUS 

“Ole Mr. Muskimus was a moughty hard 
worker, an’ likewise a hard eater, when he started 
to build dat town back dar in de lowes’ part o’ de 
ma’sh whar it’s too wet an’ boggy for mo’ sensable 
varmints to live. Yas-sar-ree, he sho’ly did work 
hard at it an’ eat a-plenty, even ef he never had 
no meat wid his greens ! But, wid all dat, he 
was de clumsies’, foolishes’, uglies’ creetur ever 
bawn or made ; he never had wits enough to keep 
out o’ de wet, an’ he walked stumblin’ an’ blun- 
derin’ along like he needed a strong pair o’ specs 
to see his way You took notice dat, close as he 
was, de ole Mr. Mushrat we seed at noontime was. 
too nigh-sighted to see us; an’, like him, his 
gret-grandaddy could swim in de water as well 
as Mr. Otter an’ Mr. Yallergator, but he was too 
foolish to Earn how to fish like dem fishermens. 

“When ole Mr. Musky — as I’ll call him for 
short to save time — commenced to build his 
house in de ma’sh, Mr. Coon happened to rack 
dat way ; an’ says he : 

“‘Howdye, Mr. Musky, what you doin’ dar?’ 
An’, when Mr. Musky tole him he was buildin’ 
a house for hisse’f an’ his fambly, Mr. Coon 
smiled mos’ back to his ears, an’ he says : 

Seems to me dat’s gwine to be a moughty 


THE MEANDERINGS OF MR. MUSKIMUS 157 

close an’ muddy little house, an’ Madam Musky 
will be fussin’ at de chilluns all de time about 
cornin’ in wid wet an’ dirty feets mussin’ up de 
floor; why don’t you move into a clean, dry, 
winter-warm an’ summer-cool house in a holler 
tree, like mine ?’ 

“Now runnin’ down anybody^ s own house riles 
him, an’ it made Mr. Musky right mad; so he 
answers short an’ sharp : 

“‘My house suits me, Mr. Coon, an’ your’n 
may suit you; an’ some folkses in dis worl’ 
mought mind deir own biz’ness.’ 

“‘Well, I meant de bes’,’ says Mr. Coon, wid 
anudder wide grin, ‘an’ I hopes you may live long 
an’ happy in yo’ fine house, an’ git rich enough to 
wear rings roun’ yo’ tail.’ 

“Dat hit Mr. Musky whar de hyar grows short, 
bekase he was always ashamed o’ havin’ a tail 
as bare as any common rat’s ; he wanted a hyary 
or furry tail moughty bad, an’, more’n all, one 
wid rings aroun’ it, like Mr. Coon’s. So dat rap 
at his rat-tail started a grudge ag’inst Mr. Coon. 

“Den, when Mr. Coon had said good-by an’ 
racked on whar he was gwine, here come mean 
an’ curious Mr. Mink, lopin’ along not mindin’ 
de mud ; an’ says he : 


158 THE MEANDERINGS OF MR. MUSKIMUS 

“‘Hello, Mr. Musky, what you makin’ dat 
big mound o’ dead grass for in all dis muck.?’ 
An’ when sulky Mr. Musky mumbled back it 
was for his house, Mr. Mink squatted down an’ 
squealed larfin’, den axed : 

“‘Ain’t you afeard all yo’ fambly will git 
bad coles livin’ here in de damp .? Yo’ eyes 
looks weak an’ watery, like you’d cotched one 
already; an’ you walks slow an’ crooked, like 
you had a tech o’ rheumatiz. Why don’t you 
build a house like mine, wid only de hall in de 
water, an’ de bedroom high an’ dry back beneaf 
de bank .?’ 

“Dat was too much for Mr. Musky; Mr. Coon 
had twitted him about his bare tail ; an’ now Mr. 
Mink teased him about his little weak eyes an’ 
his clumsy legs ; so he squealed at him his loudes’, 
which ain’t much : 

“‘Mr. Mink, you ain’t got sense enough to eat 
greens an* live in de light ! My house suits me^ 
an’ yo’ dark mudhole suits you!* 

“At dat, hot-tempered Mr. Mink run up de 
mound an’ pitched right into Mr. Musky, an’ 
whupped him till he dived deep down in de muck 
to ’scape gittin’ kilt dead outright ; an’ he stayed 
under de muck mos’ dead an’ all buried until 


THE MEANDERINGS OF MR. MUSKIMUS 159 

Mr. Mink had gone on about his biz^ness, when 
he come up an’ went to work ag’in. An’ dar 
was a grudge ag’inst Mr. Mink. 

“Next, Mr. Otter passed by, gwine fishin’; 
an’ he stopped too, an’ whissled : 

“‘Whee — whee — wheel What you makin’ 
dat trash-pile for, frien’ Musky?’ An’ when he 
hearn what it was, he whissled ag’in : 

“‘Whee — whee — whee! — reeds an’ grass — 
mush an’ slush! Ugly house for ugly owner!’ 
An’ Mr. Musky grumbled back : 

“‘Mr. Otter, ef ugly / has sich a ugly house, 
whar’s your n to brag about ? An’ whar does you 
hide it?’ Which was a lick at Mr. Otter for 
bein’ too much of a rambler to need or build 
any home. 

“‘Whar I lives nobody knows; I has a home 
wharever I goes!’ answered Mr. Otter, as he 
strolled on, whisslin’ in a don’t-keer way, lookin’ 
de shiniest an’ riches’ varmint in de ma’sh. An’ 
Mr. Musky got a lastin’ grudge ag’inst Mr. Otter 
for larfin’ at his looks. 

“Den, in de dusk, here come Mr. Yallergator, 
slowly sloshin’ thew de muck on his way f’om 
his ma’sh hole to his night-huntin’ in de bayou. 
Seein’ Mr. Musky settin’ high up on his roof, 


l6o THE MEANDERINGS OF MR. MUSKIMUS 


doin’ his las’ thatchin’, he stopped an’ grunted, 
wid one eye lifted : 

“‘Gurrr-oh : what you doin’ way up dar, 
Mr. Musky.?’ An’, when he I’arnt Mr. Musky 
was thatchin’ his roof to keep out de rain while 
his floor was overflowed wid watery muck, he 
grunted ag’in : 

“‘Gurrr-oh; you’s wastin’ yo’ time in fool’s 
work; why don’t you come an’ live wid me? 
I has a lurge hole handy for you, wid a roomy 
inside whar you kin always stay out o’ de rain.’ 
But Mr. Musky thunk it bes’ to stay on de ridge 
of his roof ; an’ he answered : 

“‘No, Mr. Yallergator, I don’t keer to move; 
my house suits me much better’n your’n would.’ 
An’, at dat, Mr. Yallergator heaved a heavy sigh 
an’ sloshed on ag’in, gruntin’ as he started : 

“‘Good-by, now, frien’ Musky, but I hopes 
we may soon meet ag’in to part no mo’.’ An’ 
de way he grunted it showed Mr. Musky dat 
Mr. Yallergator had got a grudge ag’inst him, 

“It was de same way betwixt Mr. Musky an’ 
all de varmints he happened to meet ; he come to 
have a grudge or a grievance ag’inst ev’ybody. 
Some only joked at his looks an’ his ways; but 
Mr. Mink hated him enough to kill him, an’ Mr. 


THE MEANDERINGS OF MR. MUSKIMUS i6i 


Yallergator was weepin’ hongry for him, an’ 
watched for him long in de water, which maybe 
was what made him an’ all his ’scendants I’arn 
to wash deir faces in de win’. 

“Well, wid all dat, in time Mr. Musky got to 
be de mos’ mis’able, complainin’ creetur’ in de 
ma’sh ; an’, to scape his worries an’ troubles dar, 
he took to meanderin’ in de woods an’ fiel’s. 
One day he met up wid Mr. Squir’l in de woods; 
mistakin’ Mr. Squir’l for Mr. Mink when he fust 
seed him, he hid behind a briar bush, bein’ a mile 
f’om home an’ no muck to dive under nigh. But, 
thew a peephole, he seed Mr. Squir’l on de groun’ 
dig up a nut, an’ handle it wid his ban’s, like he 
handled his grub. 

“‘Dat varmint looks like he mought be kin to 
me, little as he is; only I wish I had a tail like 
him!’ says Mr. Musky to hisse’f ; an’ he come 
out o’ hidin’ an’ tole Mr. Squir’l howdye; an’ he 
found him de perlitest creetur’ he had ever yet seed. 
But, atter Mr. Squir’l had tole Mr. Musky his 
own name an’ axed him his’n, an’ dey’d well 
started in a frien’ly chat, Mr. Musky beginned to 
complain about his worries an’ troubles, accordin’ 
to his ways, sayin’ : 

‘“Oh, Mr. Squir’l, you don’t know what I 


i 62 the MEANDERINGS OF MR. MUSKIMUS 


has to bear in dis hard worT an’ how badly I’s 
treated ; all de varmints I knows imposes on me 
an’ parsecutes me, an’ ef I stops here long enough 
to give you de chance, you’ll be pesterin’ an’ 
abusin’ me too.’ An’, at dat, cheerful Mr. Squir’l 
chirps back : 

“‘Frien’ Musky, what has I got ag’inst you.? 
You kin live on land or water an’ wander whar 
you will, while I mus’ live only in de trees ; you 
has a warm fur coat to wear in de winter, while 
mine’s nuttin’ but hyar; an’ in cole nights I has 
to use my tail to cover me.’ 

“‘Dar it goes ag’in ! ’ squeals Mr. Musky. 
‘Nobody kin talk to me a minute widout tor- 
mentin’ me about my bare tail!’ 

‘“’Scuse me. I’ll drap de subjick,’ says Mr. 
Squir’l. ‘But you tells me you lives in a good 
house in a growin’ town, an’ I lives in a lonesome 
tree hole in de wile woods. But, ’lone as I lives, 
I’s I’arnt dat folkses who likes to borrer trouble 
find a lot of it lendin’ ; an’ hatin’ all you’ neigh- 
bors only leads to gittin’ hated wusser.’ 

“‘But ’tain’t my fault 1’ complains Mr. Musky. 
‘Mr. Coon an’ Mr. Otter joked at my house an’ 
my looks; Mr. Mink tried to murder me; Mr. 
Yallergator hopes to swaller me whole; an’. 


THE MEANDERINGS OF MR. MUSKIMUS 163 

stayin’ at home, meanderin’ in de ma’sh, walkin’ 
in de woods, or swimmin’ in de water, trouble 
comes to meet me.’ 

“‘An’ I guess you never steps aside to dodge 
it when you sees it cornin’.?’ barks Mr. Squir’l. 

‘“No, what’s de use; bekase ef I does it’ll 
foller me up an’ find me. But I mought as well 
be movin’ on. Farwell, Mr. Squir’l, I’ll meander 
on todes mo’ trouble an’ take it as it comes ; but 
all de udder varmints is gwine to meet it moughty 
soon, an’ meet it hard, too!’ 

“Wid dat Mr. Musky waddled away. In his 
meanderin’s he had made up his mind dat a gin’nal 
drowndin’ wouldn’t be amiss for him to git even 
wid his tormentors. It was a lurge projick, but 
he ’termined to try it, nohow. So on an’ on he 
rambled, till he reached de bank o’ de big river 
whar de spring-rise was runnin’ ten or twelve foot 
higher’n de Ian’. All he had to do to let in half 
o’ de high Mass’ippi on de Ian’ was to dig a big 
hole thew de bottom o’ de levee ; an’ he could do 
dat faster’n Mingo kin dig a five-foot ditch in de 
cane fiel’.” 

“Heeyah — hyah — hyah — hyah 1” roared Mingo. 
“Ole Mr. Musky was sho’ly a swif’ digger, he 
was, Unk Jason!” 


164 THE MEANDERINGS OF MR. MUSKIMUS 


‘‘I means ef he kep’ steady at de job, Mingo,’’ 
scored Uncle Jason, raising a burst of laughter 
from the boys. 

“Mr. Musky was bent on turnin’ loose de river 
over de fiel’s an’ woods an’ ma’sh an’ drowndin’ 
all creation, in anudder Noah’s-Ark flood ; so 
he got busy an’ dug his hardes’. 

“Den — Boom! De ole river busted thew 
de bored levee like a big gunboat cannon gwine 
off in de still midnight 1 

“Come daybreak in de mawnin’ de creevasse 
was half a mile wide ; an’ it was roarin’, shoutin 
an’ tossin’ like all de rains an’ all de thunders 
dat thundered an’ rained in de forty-day Noah’s- 
Ark flood was ragin’ an’ roarin’ thew dat wide 
break in de levee in forty seconds ; an’ de mad 
ole Mass’ippi was drivin’ on an’ whuppin’ up its 
wile water horses to overrun an’ ’stroy de livin’ 
worl’ 1 

“No need to tell about de loud ringin’ o’ many 
larum bells in de middle night, de shoutin’ o’ 
de fleein’ people, white an’ black, de cabins failin’ 
or floatin’ away back to de woods, an’ de sweepin’ 
’struction of all de started craps ; bekase dis is 
a varmint’s tale an’ not a folkses’. 

“Mon, Mr. Deer an’ Mr. Bear, Mr. Wolf an’ 


THE MEANDERINGS OF MR. MUSKIMUS 165 

Mr. Wilecat, Mr. Possum an’ Mr. Rabbit — all 
de dry-lan’ varmints — when dey hearn de levee 
let go in de night, knowed what was cornin’, an’ 
dey put out for de highlan’s at deir fastes’ gait, 
an’ got away by de hardes’, safe in deir race 
ag’inst de overflow! 

“But Mr. Coon, Mr. Mink, Mr. Otter an’ Mr. 
Yallergator, de varmints which Mr. Musky hated 
de wusses’ an’ wanted to drown de mos’, never 
runned a step ; dey stayed it out, an’ dey didn’t 
git drownded, not a bit 1 Dey flourished in Mr. 
Musky’s moughty flood, which overflowed de 
woods about ten foot deep an’ de ma’sh a few 
foot more. Mr. Coon, Mr. Mink, an’ Mr. Otter 
des’ moved to higher tree hollers as de water 
kep’ a-risin’, an’ dey slep’ when dey wanted, wid 
nobody to ’sturb um, an’ dey woke up wid deir 
dinners at deir doors, ready for de eatin’, you may 
say; bekase, right to hand, dey cotched mo’ 
swimps an’ crawfish an’ frawgs an’ river-suckers, 
an’ sich, dan dey’d ever seed de like of in all o’ 
deir lives befo’. An’, for de fust time in his long 
lean life, Mr Yallergator got rale satisfied wid 
de grub supply; an’ he growed fat enough to 
almos’ bust his hide. Mr. Squir’l, he still barked 
cheerful an’ chirpy in de trees, feedin’ on de 


1 66 THE MEANDERINGS OF MR. MUSKIMUS 


spring buds an’ berries, wid plenty o’ drinkin’ 
water handy below. 

“Atter he let in de river, Mr. Musky looked on 
at his work awhile wid gre’t ’miration. As he 
watched its mad foamin’ and racin’, an’ lissened 
to its roarin’ rumpus, he felt moughty proud 
over sich a big job as dat bein’ all his doin’ ; den 
he jumped into de swif’ current an’ swimmed back 
to de ma’sh in a hurry. On his quick way dar 
he was happy an’ smilin’, for once in his hard an’ 
troubleful life, as he thunk, he was gwine to find 
all de tudder varmints drownded in de new flood. 

“But, when he got back home, what does he 
see ! Dar was his own house an’ a few mo’ 
newly built by his neighbors all floatin’ down de 
bayou, racin’ de forty-mile journey to de gre’t 
briny Gulf like a flock o’ little steamboats runnin’ 
down be big river ! An’ dat’s how Mr. Muskimus 
managed to git even wid de four varmints which 
he hated de wusses’ ! 

“An’ here we is nigh de head o’ de kunnal, 
wid de house wagon waitin’ for us on de bank; 
an’ we’ll git back home about de same time o’ 
day dat we was finishin’ de diggin’ o’ Mamzel’s 
rose bed an’ Mingo was busy fishin’ down at de 
steamboat landin’.” 


XIII 

MR. BUCK AND HIS BLACK 
HUNTERS 


O NE Saturday afternoon near the middle of 
November, Little Boss and his two 
fellow Boy Scouts were riding with 
Gombo Joe on a remote weed-grown road in the 
woods. They were bent on both business and 
pleasure. Ostensibly they were helping Gombo 
to round up and drive home the wood-ranging 
hogs for a Sunday rest and head-counting, but 
mostly they were seeking some new forest adven- 
ture as interesting as the discovery and capture 
of the great alligator five months previous. As 
usual on such excursions, Gombo Joe’s several 
curs tagged at their horses’ heels, or scampered 
through the bushes near them. 

At that time of the year, grown bucks of the 
deer are in their best condition, having fattened on 
the rich herbage of the mild autumn and the ripe, 
167 


l68 MR. BUCK AND HIS BLACK HUNTERS 


newly-fallen acorns of the Jive oaks, of which they 
are very fond. Then also they are much less 
timid, for their new pairs of branching horns 
have been polished and sharpened for combat with 
rivals of their own kind. The bucks are even 
ready to battle with many of their animal foes 
that they fear enough to flee from at other 
seasons. 

While Combo’s curs were rambling around in 
the woods near the young riders, they happened 
to “jump” a big old buck ; and of course they took 
after him with their customary clamor. But 
they were not nearly so eager to overtake and 
attack him as their noisy barking betokened. 
Nor did the noble buck appear to be in any 
particular hurry to escape them. When he was 
“jumped”, he whistled his peculiar snort or sniff 
of surprise and went off with slow and graceful 
bounds. Crossing the forest road not more than 
forty yards ahead of the group of mounted boys, 
he stopped a moment, turned his finely-antlered 
head to face them inquiringly, whistled louder, 
and bounded away in the woods without in- 
creasing his speed, but leaping much higher 
that he might look back and learn if his human 
enemies also intended to follow him. He soon 


MR. BUCK AND HIS BLACK HUNTERS 169 

disappeared ; and the curs quickly gave up their 
fierce pursuit, as if they decided that running 
rabbits was a much more interesting sport than 
chasing a haughty and defiant old buck armed 
with such formidable horns. 

At the supper table that night the boys graphi- 
cally described their chance meeting with such 
an immense buck in the woods, and perhaps they 
somewhat magnified the size of his horns and the 
splendor of his appearance. Supper over, they 
hastened to Uncle Jason’s cabin to give him all 
the details of this adventure, hoping that the much 
more forgetful Gombo Joe had not already told 
the old man everything about it there was to 
tell. But Uncle Jason received the interesting 
tidings with entirely satisfactory astonishment 
and delight, as if he had not heard a word of 
the interesting subject before; and he listened 
to the lively relation of its attendant incidents 
with all due sympathy. 

“You don’t sesso, young gemmans!” he would 
exclaim at proper intervals. “What ? A gre’t 
big wile buck so nigh dat ole wood road ? An’ 
he warn’t afeared o’ Combo’s dawgs, an’ des’ 
sniffed at you boys an’ went on his way ? Why, 
who’d ’a’ thunk o’ sich a thing!” Then he 


170 MR. BUCK AND HIS BLACK HUNTERS 


went on, after a short pause probably devoted 
to pondering over bygone days : 

“It’s moughty good news to Tarn dat ole Mr. 
Buck, an’ likely a few mo’ deers, is still livin’ in 
our woods, as I sees for myse’f by deir tracks an’ 
hawn-rubbin’s on de trees, now an’ den. But 
it’s not like it was in de good ole times, when we 
woke up de woods about once a week wid de hawn’ 
an’ de houn’s ; an’ I done de hawn-blowin’ an’ 
de houn’-drivin’. Sence a good fire’s burnin’ on 
de ha’th, ef you-all has time to lissen. I’ll tell 
you a tale about some udder black deer hunters. 

“Mr. Buck is de wises’ beast in de woods when 
it comes to knowin’ who’s dangersome or not 
among dawgs an’ folks. When you-all met up 
wid him to-day, had he hearn de houn’-bay instid 
o’ de cur-bark behine him, an’ had he smelt a 
man wid a gun instid o’ you harmless boys, he’d 
never tarried none when he started, an’ he’d been 
miles away befo’ night fell. 

“ But, in a time long gone, befo’ any man ever 
blowed a huntin’ hawn, or a houn’ ever bayed in 
our woods, Mr. Buck an’ Madam Doe was chased 
by the wile Black Hunters harder an’ longer’n 
dey was ever hunted by houn’s an’ mens. Why 
dey warn’t kilt den you mought ax Mr. Fox; 


MR. BUCK AND HIS BLACK HUNTERS 171 


he was dar at de finish o’ dat long hunt, an’ he 
knows a heap mo’ about it dan I does. 

“Dem days big Mr. Wolf-o’-de-Woods an’ 
his wusser black wife was keepin’ house in de 
deepes’, darkes’ forest. I hears dat nowadays 
most o’ de wolves has wandered far away to de 
wide perairies an’ wile mountains, an’ sich lone- 
some lands. But, in dem times, my wolves lived 
in dese bigger woods ; an’ many mo’ sich lives 
in de heavy timber higher up de river right now; 
an’ dey’s liable to come back to our same woods 
any time dey wants to ; an’ dey’s done it more’n 
once sence dey run away dat time de river was 
turned loose on de woods. 

“Mr. Wolf an’ his wife kep’ house an’ a butcher 
shop in de same place ; an’ dey was de onlies’ 
customers o’ dat meat market. Dey howled so 
much gittin’ deir meat, an’ atter it was got an’ et, 
dat Mr. B’ar, Mr. Pant’er an’ Mr. Wilecat, who 
was all silent hunters onless dey was starvin’ 
hungry, hated de noisy Wolf pair for skeerin’ away 
de game an’ spilin’ de huntin’, which was like- 
wise breakin’ de woods laws. 

“Mr. Fox was de onlies’ varmint in de woods 
smaller’n Mr. Wolf who warn’t afear’d o’ him. 
Dey was nigh kin ; not dat Mr. Fox liked to claim 


172 MR. BUCK AND HIS BLACK HUNTERS 


it so much; an’ dar’s plenty o’ folks in de worl’ 
who ain’t no prouder’n him o’ deir close kin. So 
Mr. Fox let his Wolf kin alone as much as he could 
widout raisin’ a fambly row about it ; an’ de 
Wolf folks never boddered deir heads much about 
Mr. Fox. Maybe dey thunk dat a cousin wid sich 
a small body must have small brains to match it ; 
but dar’s whar deir own wolf wits was moughty 
short; bekase Mr. Fox had mo’ sense in de idle 
behine foot which he lif’s when he trots along lazy 
dan de two Wolves had in bofe deir big heads. 

“Well, night in an’ day out, Butcher-Wolf an’ 
his wife kilt an’ et de meat o’ many a varmint 
o’ hoof an’ paw; but dey’d never been able to 
git no deer-meat, which made ’um hongry for 
venison more’n any udder kind. 

“Mr. Buck an’ Madam Doe lived in dat same 
wide woods; but dey never stayed in de same 
place two days an’ nights follerin’; an’ den it 
was so far away f’om de Wolf home dey felt safe. 
Den dey kep’ more on de move to dodge danger 
to deir two little spotted fawns in de summer- 
time. How dey managed to hide dem two young 
fawns when dey had to wander off to de wile 
pastur’s to graze beat Mr. Wolf an’ his wife as 
bad as it beats all de beas’es an’ mens dat ever 


MR. BUCK AND HIS BLACK HUNTERS 173 

hunted for sich hidin’-places ; an’ why dey don’t 
hide deyse’Js as close no huntsman onderstan’s. 

“Hongry for venison as dey was, dem wile 
Black Hunters couldn’t find Mr. Buck’s an’ 
Madam Doe’s fresh trail for a long, long time; 
but dey was lucky enough to strike it at las’; 
an’, when dey did, dey was foolish enough to 
howl over it loud enough to let all de woods know 
it. Den, wid noses down an’ bushy tails lifted, 
dey started off on de deer trail at a swiP trot. 

“Mr. Buck an’ Madam Doe hearn de wolf 
howl far away; an’ dey stopped feedin’ right off, 
lifted deir heads high, an’ cocked deir ears to 
lissen. Dey soon enough I’arnt dat de two Black 
Hunters was on deir track, an’ well dey knowed dey 
had no time to tarry. Deir fawns was hid away 
snug an’ safe ; so away dey goes, boundin’ light an’ 
swif’ as a flicker-bird flies. Dey makes for de head 
o’ de long woods, far away up de river ; in time dey 
slows to a trot, an’ den down to a walk, to save 
deir win’, like dey does befo’ de houn’s ; but soon, 
far behine um, soun’s dat howl dey had outrun. 

“‘Wooo — wooo — woooah’ it came, an’ oflF 
dey goes, fleet-foot ag’in, wid flags flyin’, like dey 
’spises sich hunters. Den, atter a long run, dey 
halts an’ dodges an’ circles, wades in water runs. 


174 MR. BUCK AND HIS BLACK HUNTERS 


an’ tries to wipe out an’ mix up deir trail ; but, 
befo’ long dey Tarns all dat was only losin’ time. 

‘‘ ‘ Wooo — Wooo — Woooah ’ comes much 
louder an’ nigher. For many a mile, straight 
away, dey flees, slows down to a walk, an’ stops 
to lissen. For a little while dey hears nuttin’ 
but de sof’ woo — woo — woo o’ de wind in de 
tree tops ; den, furder away dan befo’, an’ deeper’n 
de sound o’ de breeze in de branches, rises dat 
‘Wooo — wooo — woooah.’ An’ away dey goes 
again, on an’ on, into far woods whar deir feets 
has never roamed nor run befo’. 

“‘Here we should sho’ly be safe,’ pants Mr. 
Buck; ‘an’ we’ll tarry an’ rest until night, den 
turn back home by anudder way an’ jine de 
fawns ; an’ I hopes dey’ll stay hid like we tole 
um. But how I wishes I had on my fall hawns 
instid o’ dese velvet forks!’ an’ Mr. Buck shook 
his harmless summertime head, while his eyes 
flashed fire. Den dey bofe lay down on de damp 
groun’ an’ nibbled at de grass an’ green creepers 
as dey lissened. But here come dat wolf howl 
ag’in over de lonesome wind moan in dem strange 
woods ; an’ dey leaps to deir feets, a little fresher 
for deir short rest, an’ flees away. 

“De Sun grows big an’ red, den sinks doun 


MR. BUCK AND HIS BLACK HUNTERS 175 

fas’ ; de dusk comes on, an’ night hawks begins 
to flit aroun’, an’ hoot-owls call to hurry up de 
darkness ; but, wid de boomin’ o’ de night hawks 
an’ de hootin’ o’ de owls, soun’s de far howlin’ 
o’ de Black Hunters still follerin’ de deer trail. 

“"Dis won’t do!’ says weary Mr. Buck, as dey 
broke into a stretch o’ prairie country. ‘We must 
make a long swing aroun’ todes dat brightes’ 
star bangin’ low down, den wheel, leavin’ dat 
star straight behind us, an’ take de long way 
back home. We may shake off dem howlin’ 
black varmints on our back trail.’ 

“Forty or fifty mile dey’d run sence de mawnin’, 
an’ likely as many mo’ wid all deir doublin’ an’ 
windin’, wid black deaf follerin’, far or nigh, all 
de long way. De bes’ houn’ ever bred would 
’a’ quit an’ gived um anudder good run, an’ a 
rale spotesman would ’a’ let um go, wid a gre’ter 
’miration for sich a noble chase dan he would 
’a’ felt for Mr. Buck hung behind his saddle. 
But dem Black Hunters ? Oh, no ; dey warn’t 
nigh as tired as de game ; an’ hate in deir hyearts 
an’ honger in deir jaws was drivin’ um on 1 

“Mr. Buck an’ Madam Doe made deir long 
wheel in de open wid a speed dat was holped 
by de doleful wolf howl cornin’ nigher an’ nigher ; 


176 MR. BUCK AND HIS BLACK HUNTERS 

an’, at las’, wid sides heavin’ an’ leg-weary to de 
limit, dey reached de home woods, wid de Black 
Hunters not more’n a mile behine. De two deers 
didn’t know how in de worl’ dey could ’scape de 
swif’-comin’ trouble, but, wid de best o’ good 
luck, dey met up wid Mr. Fox out on his woods- 
ramblin’ in de middle night, which he likes to do 
so much. Mr. Fox an’ Mr. Buck was de best 
o’ good frien’s ; an’ how dat come to be, maybe 
I mought tell you some udder time. When Mr. 
Fox seed dat Mr. Buck an’ Madam Doe was in 
sich a heavy trouble, an’ hearn his own big howlin’ 
wolf kin not more’n a mile or so away, runnin’ 
um to kill, he set his sharp wits to work in a 
hurry to save de pair an’ fool Mr. Wolf an’ his 
wife wid de same trick at de same time. 

“Well, Mr. Fox done bofe all right; but I 
better tell you boys some udder time how he 
managed to work out dat moughty quick job ; 
an’ he never made up an’ done nuttin’ smarter’n 
dat in all o’ his life; but how will nex’ Sad’dy 
night do to tell you dat Fox tale De fire’s burnt 
moughty low, an’ it’s time to break up dis meetin’ ; 
so, good night, young gemmans-all; an’ guess- 
yo’se’fs to sleep tryin’ to think up what was Mr. 
Fox’s las’ trick till you gits de true facks f’om me'' 


XIV 

HOW MR. FOX FOOLED MR. 
WOLF 


U NCLE JASON did not waste as much 
time as usual on his preface to this 
tale, probably because he considered 
that Mr. Buck and his Black Hunters had been 
sufficiently introduced in his last story. So, 
when his fire was cheerfully blazing and his pipe 
was satisfactorily puffing, he began another 
tribute to the talents of tricky Mr. Fox. 

“Young gemmans, las’ Sad’dy night when 
you-all come here to tell me about yo’ seein’ Mr. 
Buck in de woods dat same atternoon, an’ I 
tole you about his long chase by Mr. Wolf, I 
said sumpen at de same time about Mr. Buck an’ 
Mr. Fox bein’ moughty good frien’s; an’ dis is 
how dat come about : 

“Mr. Fox was smart enough to keep always 
as frien’ly as he could wid all o’ de tudder var- 


177 


178 HOW MR. FOX FOOLED MR. WOLF 


mints in de woods, knowin’ dat de good will o* 
yo’ neighbors is a heap better’n deir hard feelin’s : 
secondly he wanted to use his neighbors for his 
own benefick when he needed um; an’, thirdly, 
he wanted to I’arn deir ways well enough so’s not 
to let none o’ dem use him to deir ’ticular vantage 
widout countin’ his’n. To save his life he 
couldn’t holp lettin’ his love o’ fun now an’ den 
git away wid his good sense ; so he’d trick an’ 
fool some o’ de varmints int’ily out o’ reason. 
Sometimes dey’d pay him back, full mejjur an’ a 
little mo’ ; but mos’ly dey didn’t ; bekase dey 
couldn’t. But all de time, befo’ an’ atter sich 
tricks, he would keep on bein’ perlite an’ smilin’ 
till dey’d forgit deir grudges ag’inst him ; an’ 
he could fool um an’ use um all over ag’in as 
easy as he done it befo’ ; de same like folks- 
suckers, who kin be hooked twice on de same bait. 

“So, whatever he went an’ whoever he met, Mr. 
Fox always toted a smile in his eyes an’ a grin 
in his mouf. Ef he met up wid potely ole Jedge 
B’ar, walkin’ in de woods, he was keen as a slick 
cote-house lawyer wid his ready : ‘Why how does 
you do, Jedge B’ar } I r’aly b’leeves you’s gittin’ 
young ag’in ; you looks an’ walks lively enough 
to dance wid de gals 1 ’ 


HOW MR. FOX FOOLED MR. WOLF 179 


‘‘Or it was: ‘Good mawnin’, Mr. Possum, de 
’simmon crap must be moughty good dis year, 
you look so fat an’ fine!’ Mr. Fox could 
talk Mr. Turkey Buzzard into thinkin’ hisse’f 
han’some; but dis is de way he got to be sich 
good frien’s wid Mr. Buck. 

“Mr. Fox was moughtily afeard o’ Mr. Buck 
at fust ; an’ he dassent try to play none o’ his 
pranks on him, he looked so proud an’ he stepped 
so grand ; an’ he had shinin’ sharp hawns to go 
wid his high temper ef any body made him rale 
mad. Bein’ so proud, he never took no ’ticular 
notice o’ Mr. Fox, atter passin’ him back a short 
greetin’ when dey met in de woods now an’ den. 

“One day, in de fall o’ de year, Mr. Fox found 
a low-hangin’ muscadine vine heavy wid mus- 
cadines. You knows muscadine vines don’t grow 
as high todes de treetops as wile-fox grapevines 
wid de grape bunches only in reach o’ birds an’ 
boys an’ udder clambin’ varmints; but you may 
find de bes’ muscadine bunches only eight or 
ten foot above de groun’. Mr. Fox sot down an’ 
gazed at de low bunches wid longin’, hongry 
looks ; they was des high enough out o’ his reach 
to drive him ’stracted ; an’, while he was settin’ 
dar figgerin’ out his chances o’ gittin’ some, Mr. 


l8o HOW MR. FOX FOOLED MR. WOLF 


Buck happened to come by. He likes to browse 
on de Juicy green muscadine leaves most as much 
as Mr. Fox loves to eat de muscadine grapes. 

“As Mr. Buck stepped up, Mr. Fox riz wid 
his bes’ manners an’ a ’spectful greetin’, an’ moved 
aside to make way for his betters. But, havin’ 
noticed Mr. Fox gazin’ up so p’intedly, Mr. Buck 
gazed up too, for wid creeturs like wid mens, 
lookin’-up curiosity is mo’ cotchin’ dan de 
measles. When Mr. Buck seed dem nice green 
muscadine leaves, he r’ared up two foot higher’n 
a tall man, standin’ on his behine feets like a 
tame billy-goat, an’, wid his huffs an’ forelegs, 
he pulled down vine, leaves, muscadines, an’ all. 
Den, widout noticin’ Mr. Fox, he cropped de 
leaves an’ lef’ de ripe muscadines layin’ aroun’ on 
de groun’. 

“Mr. Fox had about made up his mind to move 
along when he seed Mr. Buck pull down de vine ; 
but it heartened him up moughtily to see de 
leaves bein’ et an’ de grapes lef’, so he ventur’s to 
ax in a humble tone of voice : 

“‘Oh, Mr. Buck, ef you don’t want dem few 
green muscadines scattered on de groun’, would 
you objeck to my takin’ a bunch or two for my 
bre’kfus’ ?’ 


HOW MR. FOX FOOLED MR. WOLF i8l 


‘“Holp yo’se’f, but dey seems to me to be 
more’n a few bunches, an’ dey looks fa’rly ripe 
too ; but you may have de whole mess ; I don’t 
like muscadine grapes, myse’f’, answers Mr. 
Buck betwixt two good swallers o’ leaves. 

“At dat, Mr. Fox pitched into de muscadines 
in a hurry, an’ he had de fines’ bigges’ grape feas’ 
of all his bawn days. Atter dat, in de muscadine 
season, which lasts all de fall an’ well into de 
winter, Mr. Fox followed Mr. Buck over de woods 
reg’lar, but not close enough to let him know he 
was usin’ him to furnish fox-grub. But some- 
times, as if he was holpin’ to find good browsin’s 
for Mr. Buck, Mr. Fox hunted up an’ foun’ 
muscadine vines reachable to Mr. Buck, an’ 
led him to sich findin’s widout talkin’ any about 
his likin’ de pulled-down grapes better’n Mr. Buck 
liked de leaves. 

“Well, in dat way o’ wanderin’ togedder in 
de woods, season atter season, Mr. Fox an’ Mr. 
Buck took a strong likin’ for one anudder; an’ 
dat likin’ growed stronger still, bekase like troubles 
makes lovin’ frien’s. Dey had bofe been hunted 
often an’ hard by de houn’s ; an’, wid a lot o’ 
’sperience in dat line o’ spote, each tole tudder 
all de tricks an’ dodges he had I’arnt to fool 


1 82 HOW MR. FOX FOOLED MR. WOLF 


dawgs an’ mens on de hunt. An’ I guess dem 
two was de wises’ Mr. Buck an’ de smartes’ Mr. 
Fox ever seed in de woods in dis part o’ de country. 

“In las’ Sad’dy night’s tale, I b’leeve we lef’ 
Mr. Buck an’ Madam Doe so tired dey was 
ready to drap at de finish o’ dat all-day-an’- 
half-a-night run befo’ de howlin’ Wolves. Den, 
in de midnight, dey met up wid Mr. Fox ramblin’ 
on his roun’s ; an’ de Black Hunters was hardly 
more’n a mile behine, an’ gainin’; so Mr. Buck 
called out moughty anxious : 

“‘Oh, frien’ Fox, we’s in a tur’ble fix, wid dem 
black Wolf varmints huntin’ us down an’ almos’ 
here, an’ our legs failin’ us, an’ my hawns in de 
velvet. What, oh, what kin we do Won’t you 
try to holp us out o’ dis awful trouble.?’ 

“‘You kin do a-plenty ef you’ll use yo’ heads 
as well as you has used yo’ legs gittin’ away f’om 
it,’ says Mr. Fox. 

“Den Mr. Buck turns his head sidewise to lissen 
to de ’proachin’ wolves, an’ he looks rale worried ; 
while Madam Doe moaned low, wid her lurge 
wet eyes showin’ her misery, an’, hopeless-like an’ 
desperit, Mr. Buck axed : 

“‘How kin we use our heads now, wid de 
danger so nigh, when we used um all we could in 


HOW MR. FOX FOOLED MR. WOLF 183 

all de tricks an’ wiles we knows when it was far 
away ? ’ 

“De flashes o’ heat lightnin’ which you sees 
way off* above de edge o’ de worl’ in a still warm 
night atter a hot summer day, don’t flicker quite 
as fas’ as Mr. Fox’s wits worked dat summer 
night to save his frien’s, an’ says he : 

“ ‘ I sees a moughty easy way out o’ you trouble ; 
but we ain’t got no time lef’ to talk about it now ; 
let’s be doin it, an’ doin’ it in a hurry ! By de 
luck o’ de woods, you an’ yo’ pretty madam is 
standin’ close beside a thick patch o’ smartweed, 
like you was afeared to step in it an’ git yo’ feets 
smelly : fust lemme, quick as I kin, rub every 
foot an’ j’int o’ bofe o’ yo’ eight legs on my feets 
an’ legs an’ sides, till I’s kivered all over wid yo’ 
hot, damp deer-scent. Next you paw an’ pound 
de wet smartweed hard wid all yo’ feets an’ roll 
over an’ waller in it a few secon’s — an’ be in a 
big hurry about it ! Den off* you flees one way, 
smellin’ like de dew-damp smartweed, an’ away 
I flees anudder way, rank wid deer-scent, todes 
a runnin’ branch about a mile f’om here; now 
away we goes ! ’ 

“Dat bad-smellin’, stingin’, bitin’ smartweed 
has many mo’ names; some folks calls it skunk- 


1 84 HOW MR. FOX FOOLED MR. WOLF 


weed, an’ some stinkweed, which fits it better’n 
any; but ef you happens to git some o’ its hot 
juice in yo’ eyes, or up yo’ nose, you’s moughty 
apt to name it sumpen wusser, ef you don’t belong 
to no chu’ch. Sometimes you may see a bunch 
o’ mischeevous boys out rabbit huntin’ collar 
a no-’count dawg too lazy to hunt, an’ bruise a 
bunch o’ smartweed till it’s wet wid its own sap, 
an’ rub it in his eyes an’ nose, ‘to make him 
lively’, like dey says. Dey calls dat fun, but de 
dawg don’t seem to look at it in de same light, 
f’om de way he sneezes an’ hollers an’ rolls on de 
groun’, fightin’ his face wid bofe paws at once. Den 
he’ll git up an’ hunt; but it’s for de shortes’ way 
home. 

“No sooner had Mr. Fox an’ his frien’s finished 
deir smartweed fixin’-up when here comes a woods- 
waking, ‘Wooo — wooo — wooah’, not more’n 
a couple o’ hundred wolf-boun’s f’om de three. 
Away goes Mr. Buck an’ Madam Doe, sharp 
to de left o’ de trail dey had come back by; an’ 
away goes Mr. Fox, fleein’ to de right, all gwine as 
swif’ an’ silent as Mr. Hoot-Owl flies, in de dark. 

“Mr. Wolf an’ his wife stopped short when dey 
reached de smartweed patch, whar dey snuffled 
an’ sneezed an’ snarled over de true deer trail. 


HOW MR. FOX FOOLED MR. WOLF 185 

an’ den took de false fox trail an’ follered it fas’, 
hot an’ howlin’. 

“Mr. Fox made it to de mile-away branch o’ 
runnin’ water in a moughty few minutes; an’ 
he got dar wid a little time to spare, owin’ to de 
wolves stoppin’ awhile in de smartweed to work 
our de right trail. Into de branch he jumped, 
an’ rolled an’ wallered over an’ over in de shaller 
runnin’ water; den he scrubbed his body all over 
wid de black bottom-mud, cleaned it ag’in wid 
clear water; an’, atter dat, stood up leg-deep in 
de branch, waitin’ for his fas’-comin’ wolf cousins. 
Dey soon reached de narrer run, woooin’ to 
shake de woods, bounded across it widout seein’ 
Mr. Fox, snulFed along de furder bank a little, 
loses de hot trail dar, an’ leaps back ag’in to pick 
it up whar dey’d lost it. An’ dars whar dem black 
trackers got balked for good an’ all. As dey 
sniffed an’ snuffed an’ puzzled on de bank, an’ 
looked down in de water, dey soon seed Mr. Fox, 
who made believe he was moughty busy about 
sumpen, wid no time to talk or lissen, when Mr. 
Wolf axed him : 

“‘Cousin Fox, didn’t you see two fat deers 
pass here a few minutes sence ?’ 

“‘No, I ain’t got time to look for no loafin’ 


1 86 HOW MR. FOX FOOLED MR. WOLF 


deers ; Fs too busy lookin’ for my grub dis time 
o’ night,’ answered Mr. Fox; an’ Mr. Wolf sort 
o’ growled at him. 

“‘Dem deers was a big buck an’ a fine doe, 
which we’s been runnin’ since las’ dawn an’ has 
about run down ; ef you has eyes you must ’a’ seed 
um ; dey reached dis bank right here ; dey didn’t 
jump across ; dey couldn’t try wadin’ away wid us 
close enough to hear deir splashin’ ; an’ here deir 
hot body scent an’ track trail breaks off short.’ 

“‘All o’ dat, an’ mo’ too,’ growled an’ grumbled 
Mr. Wolf, in a awful bad temper at gittin’ balked 
dat strange way, when he felt dat he as much as 
had his meat in his mouf. But he never worried 
Mr. Fox none, who kep’ on wadin’ slow an’ crafty, 
lookin’ closely down in de water, as he said : 

“‘Well, Cousin Wolf, I never cotched yo’ 
deers an’ et ’um all up, huffs, hawns, an’ hides. 
Fs down here wet all over wid wadin’ atter frawgs 
for supper, an’ I sho’ly is havin’ a fine one ; dey’s 
de fattes’ frawgs I ever seed, an’ a heap juicier’n 
any venison : you better come in an’ ketch a few ?’ 
An’ Mr. Fox pertended to hit at a frawg, an’ 
grabbled for him wid his head ducked, like dat 
one had got away. 

“‘We ain’t huntin’ no narsty frawgs : dem nigh 


HOW MR. FOX FOOLED MR. WOLF 187 


dead deers is our meat !’ snarled Mr. Wolf, while his 
black mate still snuffed aroun’ for de los’ trail. 

‘“Well, don’t eat um befo’ dey’s cotched!’ 
snaps Mr. Fox, still lookin’ down close an’ keerful 
for frawgs ; den, while bofe wolves was busy 
worryin’ over dat broken trail, he walked out o’ de 
water on to de furder bank, dried hisse’f well 
enough to git back his fox smell, by rollin’ on de 
dead leaves an’ grass o’ las’ winter, an’ trotted 
away in de woods to hunt a rale supper. 

“Mr. Wolf an’ his wife worked hard an’ long 
over dat los’ trail, but dey had to give it up at 
las’; an’, by dat time, dey was so tormentin’ 
hongry dat dey waded in de branch to hunt for 
frawgs in place o’ de missin’ deer meat ; but 
nary a frawg could dey find ! Maybe Mr. Fox 
had cotched um all ; an’ maybe no bullfrawg, 
livin’ or dead, had ever seed dat branch ! So de 
lean an’ hongry wolves had to give up dat funny 
hunt, too, an’ go de long way home leaner’n 
dey’d lef’ it in de mawnin’. 

“An’, miles an’ miles away, Mr. Buck an’ 
Madam Doe reached home safe about de same 
time dat Mr. Fox finished his frawggin’ an’ 
rolled on de leaves an’ grass to git back his fambly 
smell.” 


XV 


THE FINDING OF THE LOST 
FAWNS 

A FEW days after Uncle Jason had told 
the last story of how Mr. Fox saved the 
deer from the hunting wolves, he 
happened to remark to Little Boss : 

“Talkin’ about wolf an’ deer an’ fox tales an’ 
sich, I’s been lately wonderin’ ef you ain’t gittin’ 
too much of a man, nowadays, to lissen to my 
woods talk like you did two year or so back.?” 

“Since we caught that big alligator I believe I 
like your stories about the wild things better than 
ever,” replied the boy; “and I was sorry that you 
finished those deer tales so soon ; for I liked 
them so much that I told them to my sister and 
she enjoyed them greatly. But she wondered 
what became of those poor little fawns that were 
left so long by their hunted mother; and, of 
course, I could not tell her that.” 


i88 


THE FINDING OF THE LOST FAWNS 189 

‘‘Well, ef you’d ’a’ been lawyer enough to ax 
for all de facks in de case when I finished talkin’ 
about what Mr. Deer an’ Mr.Wolf an’ Mr. Fox 
done,” replied Uncle Jason, “you mought ’a’ 
found I was hidin’ mo’ behine about de fawns. I 
had annuder tale to tack on to tudder two, part 
of which I I’arnt f’om Mr. Fox befo’ he lef’ here 
for de hill country, an’ de rest of it I seed for 
myself by de signs in de woods an’ rale true 
happenin’s in de open.” 

Thus was promised a third and last chapter in 
the long Deer-Wolf-Fox serial, and the old man 
proposed to give another young auditor the benefit 
of it for he asked : 

“Maybe yo’ sister mought like to hear dis las’ 
tale, sence you has tole her de two leadin’ up to 
it ; an’ dis one is ruther more of a gyurl’s dan it 
is a boy’s story, anyhow?” 

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll be delighted to listen to it, 
for she loves the woods’ life as much as I do, and 
remembers all of the old-time stories you have 
told us,” said the pleased boy; and the old man 
beamed at such flattery of his talents. 

“Well, it’s gittin’ about time for me to be 
payin’ back some o’ yo’ visits to my cabin, an’ 
I’ll go over to de house soon atter supper an’ 


190 THE FINDING OF THE LOST FAWNS 


finish up wid how dem two fawns got lost an’ 
foun’ ; an’, in dat, I seed for myse’f all o’ what 
happened in de open.” 

When Uncle Jason duly appeared in the base- 
ment play room, he found a larger fireside circle 
than he expected. The ‘‘Three Boy Scouts”, 
who were as thick as “The Three Musketeers”, 
were there also, for Bumble and Hopfrog had 
dropped in to hear the last of the deer stories. 

Before beginning his story. Uncle Jason absent- 
mindedly fumbled in his pocket for his pipe, then 
suddenly put it back with visible embarrass- 
ment, as he considered smoking in feminine com- 
pany grossly unmannerly. But Little Boss’s 
sister laughingly insisted. 

“Oh, Uncle Jason, I don’t in the least object 
to your smoking; I rather enjoy the smell of it; 
please smoke; really you don’t look quite like 
yourself to me without your pipe in your mouth 
Taking this request as a command, the old man 
fired up and commenced : 

“When Daddy Buck an’ Mammy Doe hearn de 
black wolf pair halt at de smartweed patch an’ 
howl dar a spell, den break away on de false fox 
trail, dey blessed Mr. Fox moughty thankful 
for what he done to save um; an’, tired as dey 


THE FINDING OF THE LOST FAWNS 191 


was Pom dat hundred-mile chase, wid deaf 
turned aside, dey felt happier’n dey was weary. 
Dey’d soon be home wid deir fawns ; so dey went 
along lighter an’ easier in body an’ mind. Dey 
was sho’ deir fawns would stay hid whar dey’d 
left um befo’ de fust streak o’ dawn when dey 
went out to graze, tho’ dey didn’t know den it 
was to leave um until de dark midnight; an’, 
atter de dawn feedin’. Mammy Doe always 
went home f’om de deer pastur’ to give her fawns 
a good milk bre’kfus’. So she begins to git 
anxious, knowin’ her chilluns mus’ be moughty 
nigh starved. 

‘^At las’ dey reached home, an’ opened up de 
hidin’ place. It was empty ! Dey bleated de 
deer call, low an’ den louder. No answer ! 
Louder, an’ only de still woods wailed it back ! 
De fawns was gone ! 

‘‘High dey belt deir heads to look aroun’ an’ 
lissen. Nuttin’ but silence an’ darkness ! Down 
nigh de groun’ went deir eyes an’ noses, s’archin’ 
an’ smellin’ for de tracks o’ prowlin’ Mr. Pant’er 
or wicked Mr. Wilecat ; but none o’ dem danger- 
some varmints had been nigh de empty hidin’ 
place, dat day gone or night come, an’ dat was 
one gre’t satisfaction. Den dey thunk about 


192 THE FINDING OF THE LOST FAWNS 


Mr. Bald Eagle, known by deers an’ mens as a 
fawn killer. But he couldn’t tote away in his 
crooked hook-claws one fawn de size o’ deir’n ; 
an’ dar was nuttin’ layin’ on de groun’ to show de 
work o’ dat bloody sky-butcher. 

‘‘An’, better still. Daddy Buck an’ Mammy 
Doe sees an’ scents little deer footprints frolickin’ 
aroun’ here an’ dar about home and in de woods 
nigh, an’ den walkin’ straight away in a double 
fawn trail. Dey follered dat as far as dey could, 
till, wored out by de long chase, dey drapped on 
de groun’ too stiff an’ weary to move a step furder. 
Dat was all dey could do — des lay down an’ 
wait for de cornin’ of anudder dawn to go on an’ 
look for deir los’ chilluns. 

“An’ dar we’ll leave de ole deers to deir own 
heavy feelin’s an’ hopes ; an’ we’ll pick up de 
cole fawn trail ourse’fs an’ see if we cyarnt foller 
it true to de eend. 

“Later, dese fawns come to be called Frisk 
an’ Frolic, an’ I’ll start now callin’ um de same, 
to keep my tale f’om gittin’ tangled up in its 
tellin’. Well, soon atter deir daddy an’ mammy 
left in de early mawnin’, de fawns was woke up by 
de loud howlin’ o’ de Black Hunters who’d struck 
deir trail moughty nigh deir home. Dey was 


THE FINDING OF THE LOST FAWNS 193 


awfully skeered by dat noise an’ hid even deir 
heads under de heavy leaf cover beneaf de thick 
bushes, whar dey lay till it died away in de chase. 
Den dey soon forgot it, an’ nuttin’ mo’ ’sturbed 
um in de still woods till de sun was shinin’ over 
de tree tops, an’ breakfastime was long come an’ 
gone widout sight or sign o’ Mammy Doe. Higher 
an’ higher clambed dat bright sun till it got 
straight overhead in a burnin’ hot sky, while 
de still woods was stiflin’ warm. At las’ de little 
fawns got so parched wid thust an’ faint wid 
honger dat Frisk says to Frolic: 

‘“Mammy Doe tole us when she went away 
not to stir enough to ’sturb a vine or a leaf until 
she come home ; but she won’t come, an’ I cyarn’t 
Stan’ dis heat no longer. I mus’ have a drink o’ 
cool water an’ a nibble o’ green grass, or I’ll 
soon die right here whar we lays!’ 

“So dey bofe lifted deir heads an’ peeped thew 
de thick leaves to look aroun’ keerful’ to see if 
any varmint dey’d been tole to fear was in sight. 
But, in dat noontime heat, de whole woods was 
gone to bed, an’ even de birds was too drowsy 
to chirp a note. So, atter lookin’ an’ lissenin’ 
an’ sniffin’ aroun’ good, de fawns got up on deir 
feets, stretched deir legs an’ backs awhile, an 


194 the finding OF THE LOST FAWNS 


den stole out quiet to a runnin’ branch nigh, an* 
had a nice cool drink o* water. Den dey browsed 
on de tender water grass by de brim, for a time ; 
an’, atter dat, dey got to skippin’ about an’ 
playin’ deir young deer games, favorin’ mos’ dat 
one like a tame-goat game whar one stan’s on a 
mound or hillock an’ tudder butts him ofF an’ takes 
his place till he gits butted olF. You-all may not 
b’leeve it, but young deers, an’ growed ones too, 
beats kids an’ billy-goats playin’ dat game. 

“But, atter while. Frisk an’ Frolic got tired o’ 
sich play; an’, havin’ broke de fust home law, , 
dey didn’t mind, now dey’d done it, breakin’ a 
few mo’ ; dey’d have a good time while dey was 
about it, so dey wandered off to look for sumpen 
new in de worl’. It was des a little furder on, to 
play wid a funny flicker o’ sunshine on de groun’, 
des a little furder to tease a winkin’ wood’s toad 
an’ make him hop ; des a little furder for some 
like foolishness ; an’, befo’ long, dey got los’. 
Try dis way an’ try dat way, an’ de home dey 
looked for was left a little furder behine. In 
deir wanderin’ dey passed under Mr. Squir’l settin’ 
on a low limb wid his tail up an’ his teefs busy 
hullin’ a las’ winter’s acorn ; an’ he barked down 


at um : 


THE FINDING OF THE LOST FAWNS 195 


‘‘‘Wharfs you gwine, little Fawns? You looks 
like you’s got los’?’ An’ Frisk looked up and 
answered : 

“‘We’s gwine home, Mr. Squir’l, but it’s a 
moughty long way, an’ we’s moughty hongry 
f’om missin’ our bre’kfus’ dis mawnin’.’ 

“‘Stop an’ have some acorns,’ chirped Mr. 
Squir’l ; an’ he scurried into his hole an’ out ag’in, 
an’ down de tree trunk to de roots, totin’ a armful 
o’ sweet live-oak acorns, which deers likes so well. 
De fawns et ’um all up, thanked Mr. Squir’l, tole 
him good-by, an’ started on ag’in. 

“When de sun was more’n halfway down de 
sky dey walked right up on Madam Rabbit, 
squattin’ among her young folks nippin’ greens 
in her wile-passley bed. Her young folks seed 
de fawns fust, an’ dey bounced in de briars an’ 
hid tight, an’ Madam Rabbit started to run too; 
but when she seed who it was, she squatted ag’in, 
an’ twisted her mouf axin’ : 

“‘Whar’s you gwine, little Deers : is you los’ ?’ 
An’ Folic answered : 

“‘We’s gwine home. Madam Rabbit, but it’s 
a long, long way, an’ we’s tired an’ hongry f’om 
havin’ hardly nuttin’ to eat all day.’ 

“‘Well, have a good mess o’ passley greens in 


196 THE FINDING OF THE LOST FAWNS 


my patch here an’ rest awhile/ said Madam 
Rabbit ; an’ de little Rabbits stole out o’ de 
bushes to take a shy look at de long-legged 
strangers. Frisk an’ Frolic et all de greens dey 
could, thanked Madam Rabbit, tole her good-by, 
an’ went on ag’in. 

‘‘Dey soon seed dat de woods was gittin’ 
much thinner, more sunshine lay on de groun’, 
an’ here an’ dar stood a gray stump, which de 
fawns took to be some strange kind o’ varmints, 
an’ dey stopped an’ gazed at um skeerily. Den, 
seein’ de stumps kep’ still, dey walked shyly 
aroun’ um an’ went on. De Sun was gittin’ 
low, an’ de tree shadders in de clearin’ looked 
plainer an’ longer’n any dey ever seed in de 
woods, whar leaf, limb, an’ trunk shadders is all 
tangled togedder. 

“At las’ Frisk an’ Frolic reached de open coun- 
try, wid only shade trees standin’ far apart, 
an’ no bushes, but a world o’ short green grass. 
Gre’t strange beas’es, mostly wid big, thick, 
branchless hawns, roved slowly about, failin’ 
in a stragglin’ line, an’ stoppin’ to crop grass now 
an’ den as dey stolled lazily along, all gwine de 
same way. Dey was only de peaceful cattle gwine 
home f’om de pastur’ at sundown. 


THE FINDING OF THE LOST FAWNS 197 

“Behine de strung-out herd was one small 
cow not much lurger’n a deer; an’ fom a little 
distance she looked like a doe, but for her long 
tail wid its black tip tuft. Widout hawns, as 
she was, she had a regular deer head an’ a like 
colored hide; but, my, what a milk bag! She 
was de fust Jarsey cow ever fetched to dese 
lowlan’s, an’ de white folks claimed she was 
wufF a fortune o’ good money. 

‘‘When de fawns fust seed her dey mistook her 
for deir mammy, an’ run bleatin’ to j’ine her; 
but, when dey got nigh her, dey thunk she was a 
strange doe; so dey ’preached her mo’ timidly. 

“As pretty Madam Cow tossed her head aroun’ 
to knock a pesterin’ fly off* of her back, she seed 
de fawns follerin’ her, an’ she mooed at um low, 
like she was use’ to meetin’ little wile deers in 
dem furrin parts f’om which she come. An’ 
she mooed so invitin’ dat de fawns trus’fully 
trotted right up to her, sho’ she was anudder 
Madam Doe, if she warnt deir own mammy. 
An’ she axed : 

“‘What’s de trouble, my little Fawns; is you 
los’ an’ lookin’ for yo’ mammy.?’ 

“‘We dunno. Madam Doe,’ answered de 
fawns. ‘We’s a moughty long ways f’om home, 


198 THE FINDING OF THE LOST FAWNS 


an’ we’s so tired an’ hongry, for we hasn’t had a 
milk supper sence las’ night.’ An’, at dat, 
Madam Cow heaved a deep sigh, an’ mooed : 

“‘I ain’t a Madam Doe, like yo’ mammy, 
but I’ll be a mammy to you till you finds her; 
I’s on my way to my own little calf right now; 
an’ I’s sho’ I kin feed two mo’ for a time.’ An’, 
wid dat, she stopped an’ give Frisk an’ Frolic 
de hearties’ supper dey ever had, lickin’ an’ 
nuzzlin’ um while dey was takin’ it. When dey 
finished it, she sa’ntered on home to de milkin’ 
in de dusk, wid de herd out o’ sight an’ de fawns 
follerin’ close at her heels. 

“By de time she reached de cow pen she had 
petted an’ talked um so tame dat dey kep’ at her 
side right up to de colored milk gal, whar she 
stood wid her pail waitin’ to milk dat las’ belated 
cow. Yas, sirs, an’ Miss, dem two wile fawns 
walked up to dat gal like dey was as much used to 
wimmin folks wid frocks as was any two little 
tame calves dat fools aroun’ a milkin’ gal an’ 
tries to butt her away f’om deir job ! 

“At dat de colored gal hollered, an’ drapped her 
pail, an’ fa’rly flewed runnin’ to de white folks’ 
house to call de chilluns to come out to de cow 
pen an’ look at de two little deers which had 


THE FINDING OF THE LOST FAWNS 199 


come home wid de Jarsey cow. An’ dem chilluns 
went dar faster’n she brung de news ; an’ — would 
you believe it ! — dem fawns started right off to 
play an’ frolic wid dem young folks as ef dey had 
knowed nice white chilluns sence de day dey was 
bawn in de wilderness. An’ dat’s how dey come 
to be named Frisk an’ Frolic. 

“ De chilluns an’ deir young dawgs likewise, 
was wile over deir new woods’ pets : young 
chilluns, young deers, an’ young dawgs all runned 
an’ danced aroun’ togedder, an’ played tag, an’ 
goat-on-a-moun’, an’ sich games like dey all 
belonged to de same happy fambly. A grassy 
little park in de back o’ de groun’s was fenced in 
to save de fawns f’om ramblin’ vagabone dawgs : 
it was shaded wid trees an’ bushes, an’ a open 
sleepin’ shed to shelter ’um f’om bad wedder was 
built in a corner of it. An’ while dey lived dar. 
Frisk an’ Frolic los’ deir many white spots an’ 
wore gray coats wid white bosoms an’ tails. 

‘‘But, somehow, wid all o’ dat fun an’ good 
feedin’ an’ shelter, de woods kep’ a-callin’ Frisk 
an’ Frolic to come back home. Wid de cornin’ 
o’ de dusk, an’ on in the dark night, dey’d ramble 
about res’lesslike, an’ stop wid big eyes opened 
wide, an’ wid ears cocked forward to lissen for de 


200 THE FINDING OF THE LOST FAWNS 


woods call, which no folks kin hear. An’ dey’d 
gaze wid longin’ to de dim dark line o’ de far- 
away woods, which looked as res’ful an’ homelike 
to dem as dey looks wile an’ lonesome to folkses. 

‘‘Den come a night when dey hearn a well- 
knowed whissle an’ a sof’ low bleat ; an’ dey 
answered it wid de whimperin’ wile-fawn call. 
Nex’ sounded de startlin’ noise of a quick rip an’ 
crash in de fence palin’s; den deep silence ag’in. 
Den here was Mammy Doe, nuzzlin’ um once 
mo’ an’ coaxin’ um to foller her to a hole in de 
fence, which Daddy Buck had torn wid his 
hard sharp hawns to set um free ; an’ dar he was, 
standin’ outside waitin’ for deir cornin’ ! 

“De day atter de long hunt Madam Doe had 
started at dawn an’ followed de fawn trail to de 
grazin’ groun’s : an’ den, f’om de summertime 
till de fall fros’ had fired de woods leaves, she had 
been tryin’ to find her los’ chilluns an’ take um 
home. An’ now Daddy Buck was fit to help 
her, an’ to fight wid his fall hawns for his mate 
an’ deir fawns. 

“Thew de broken fence went Mammy Doe an’ 
her homesick young ones ; an’ dey all stole away 
to de woods wid no mo’ noise dan was made 
by de night’s darkness. 


THE FINDING OF THE LOST FAWNS 201 


“An’ dat’s de way de fawns got lost an’ found 
ag’in an’ led de long way home. 

“Mr. Wolf an’ his wicked wife is dead an’ 
gone. Wise Mr. Fox moved to de hills a long 
time back; (ahead o’ dat gre’t overflow which 
Mr. Mushrat made when he tried to drown out 
de whole country). Proba’ly de Mr. Buck which 
you boys lately met in de woods, ef he knowed 
how to talk, could tell you these three las’ varmint 
tales I tole you a heap better’n me ; but I has done 
de bes’s I could : An’ dat’s all. I bids you good 
night. Yo’ humble sarvant. Little Mistiss an’ 
young gemmans-all.” 

And Uncle Jason backed himself through the 
outer door into the darkness, still beaming and 
bowing. 


XVI 

HOW MR. FOX TRICKED 
MR. OWL 

N ear the middle of a cold winter night, 
as Little Boss was riding home from a 
young folks’ party at the home of his 
friend Hopfrog, something startling happened 
which scared him quite badly for a little while. 
The sleepy young rider, with hands in his over- 
coat pockets, let his reliable steed slowly take his 
own homeward way on the long and lonely river 
road. That public highway was perfectly safe at 
all times of the day or night ; but to a youngster 
in the beginning of his teens, at that hour the 
surroundings might have seemed somewhat un- 
canny. The dim road was darkly overshadowed 
at irregular intervals by great live oaks, which 
seemed to loom even larger in the misty moon- 
light, standing lofty and wide before low stretches 
of still more misty fields. And road, trees, and 


202 


HOW MR. FOX TRICKED MR. OWL 203 


bare fields all appeared to be wrapped in the 
profound silence of midnight sleep, as even the 
winter winds were stilled. 

As the drowsy boy rode beneath the gray mossy 
limbs of one of those ancient live oaks, musing 
over the pleasures he had just enjoyed at Hop- 
frog’s birthday party, he was suddenly widely 
awakened from his reveries. From a lower limb 
of the dark tree a huge bird swiftly swooped down 
closely over his head with a demoniac shriek, 
flapped its dusky wings in his face, hovered over 
him a moment, clicking its beak like clinks of 
steel, then flew silently away over the level fields, 
and was soon lost from sight in the mantle 
of mist which more thickly covered the low 
grounds. 

The light of the full moon almost directly over- 
head was sufficient to show the shape of this great 
night-bird’s body, and even its big double-crested 
and seemingly neckless head. From that, and 
its noiseless flight, the boy knew it to be an enor- 
mous owl, such as he had never before seen. He 
was sure that no other bird of such size could have 
flown so near him without the noise of fluttering 
feathers and flapping pinions, and that only the 
wings of the hunter owls of the darkness are fitted 


204 HOW MR. FOX TRICKED MR. OWL 


with the night’s own silence, so that they may not 
be heard by their wandering victims of the fields 
and woods. 

Little Boss was perfectly familiar with the 
several varieties of native owls. He knew inti- 
mately the tiny screech owl, which makes its 
home near human dwellings ; he was as well 
acquainted with the invaluable barn owl of dim 
and cobwebby haylofts and barn eaves — the 
world’s champion rat killer. He had sometimes, 
but not often, seen the singular day hunting-owl, 
with legs so long for the small size of its body 
that it seems to walk on stilts as it hunts afoot 
over the fields and meadows. And what country 
boy of the lowlands or the hills does not know the 
hoot owl of the woods ! But this immense un- 
known owl of that midnight meeting was, in the 
boy’s mind, “the big boss of all owl kind.” 

When he mentioned his midnight adventure 
next morning at the breakfast table, he was in- 
formed by his father that he had seen a very rare 
feathered visitor to the Louisiana sugar region 
and the largest of all American owls. This was 
the great horned owl, which breeds in our Northern 
States and British America and seldom migrates 
south of the Carolinas. But in winters of un- 


HOW MR. FOX TRICKED MR. OWL 205 

usual severity it sometimes travels as far south 
as the coast of the Gulf of Mexico. 

Later in the day, of course, Uncle Jason, 
wise in local woodlore, had to hear all about this 
marvelous midnight meeting with the most im- 
mense owl that boy or man ever saw. To that 
venerable and very interested listener his young 
friend described the feathered monster as an 
enormous bird approaching the probable size of 
the fabulous roc of the Arabian Nights, which 
carried Sindbad the Sailor to the Valley of Gems. 
But a little skeptic reasoning reduced the owl to 
one at least bigger than a turkey buzzard and 
fully as large as the biggest of that pair of bald 
eagles which they had seen driven swiftly away 
from the sheep pasture last spring by the attacks 
of several clamorous Kingbirds. 

When the boy stopped for breath, and to think 
up a further supply of adjectives suitable to the 
subject. Uncle Jason shook his gray head and very 
seriously observed : 

“Little Mahster, Pom yo’ seein’ dat big ole 
owl so soon in de season. Us moughtily afeared a 
hard mid winter’s a-comin’. He’s what dey use’ 
to call in ole Verginny, in my young days, Mr. 
Horny Owl; an’ he’s double as big ag’in as our 


2o6 how MR. FOX TRICKED MR. OWL 


Mr. Hoot Owl here. When you’s huntin’ by yo’ 
lone se’f in de big woods along about midnight, 
an’ you happens to hear him holler nigh you at a 
ole Molly-Hyar’ fun’al, it’s moughty apt to make 
you feel sort o’ homesick. Ag’inst his skeery 
squall Mr. Hoot Owl’s callin’ : ‘who-cooks-for- 
you-all ’ soun’s chirpy an’ cheerful. No wonder he 
skeered you on de lonesome main road las’ night.” 

“Yes, and I believe that squall right over your 
head would have ‘skeered’ you some too,” 
warmly broke in the boy. But the old man, un- 
heeding him, continued : 

“When I was a boy about yo’ age, ole Mr. 
Horny Owl use’ to spend his winters reg’lar in ole 
Verginny, an’ I’s seed him dar many an’ many a 
time. Now he’s flewed on down dis far, he’s 
more’n likely brought his kind o’ wedder along 
wid him, an’ we mought as well be lookin’ for de 
cornin’ of a rale cole Chris’mas an’ New Year’s. 
Ef we folkses only knowed what de winter gwine 
to be as well as wise Mr. Horny Owl knows, we’d 
know how to time de plowin’ an’ de plantin’ a 
heap better’n we knows when to do it now.” 

“Oh, I wonder if we’ll have another big January 
snow hopefully suggested the boy, remembering 
the sports he had enjoyed a few years before in the 


HOW MR. FOX TRICKED MR. OWL 207 

only lingering snowfall he had ever seen in his 
life. 

‘‘Dis year’s ole me an’ nex’ year’s young cane 
crop hopes not!” fervently ejaculated Uncle 
Jason; then he returned to his original subject. 

“But, solium an’ ’ligious as he looks, Mr. 
Horny Owl likes to steal chickens an’ turkeys 
better’n he does to hunt ole Molly-Hyars; an’ 
in dat way he’s as bad as most o’ dem night 
ramblers who does all deir chicken raisin’ f’om 
hones’ folks’ chicken roosts. Yas, Mr. Horny 
Owl has robbed an’ fooled a heap o’ chicken 
owners ; but come a time when Mr. Fox fooled 
an’ tricked him wusser’n he ever fooled an’ 
robbed any folkses.” 

“How was that. Uncle Jason.?” asked the boy 
with apparent indifference, intending not to defer 
the starting of the story by showing too much 
interest at first, and convinced that it would be 
extracted in time. 

“Oh, dat was a long, long time back in ole 
Verginny ; but till now, come winter cole or come 
summer warm, Mr. Horny Owl ain’t forgit an’ 
forgive Mr. Fox for dat yit; an’ he’s hated de 
sight o’ Mr. Fox ever sence; an’ wharever Mr. 
Fox roams in de woods or rambles in de fiel’s — 


208 HOW MR. FOX TRICKED MR. OWL 


new moon or full moon, bright moon or dark moon 
— when Mr. Horny Owl meets up wid him night- 
huntin’, he snaps his sharp beak at him like he 
was gwine to bite him to pieces, an’ he flies far 
far away f’om him into de furder darkness.” 

“But how did Mr. Fox fool him.f*” Jess tact- 
fully asked the impatient boy. 

During his talk on the history of Mr. Horny 
Owl and the dark sins of that pious looking 
feathered hypocrite, and the wiles of Mr. Fox, 
Uncle Jason had steadily continued his garden 
work; but now, stopping short, he turned to 
face the too inquisitive boy with feigned asperity. 

“Well, well. Little Mahster, it looks like you’s 
smarter’n Mr. Fox, tryin’ to work dat tale out 
o’ me, whedder or no, endurin’ dis busy time; 
but ef you’ll lemme finish dis job in peace an’ go 
in de house to I’arn yo’ schoolbooks for awhile, 
you kin come aroun’ to my cabin befo’ bedtime, 
an’ we’ll have a little longer talk about tricky 
Mr. Fox an’ thievin’ Mr. Horny Owl.” 

A few hours later, when Uncle Jason’s young 
visitor arrived, the old man directed his cabin 
mate, Gombo Joe, to put more wood on the fire 
and, after his usual rambling preface, began the 
following tale : 


HOW MR. FOX TRICKED MR. OWL 209 


“Maybe it’s moughty little what I knows about 
de wile creeturs an’ deir ways an’ talk, savin’ 
aroun’ here whar we lives nowadays. But dis 
here tale belongs way back in ole Verginny whar 
my folkses an’ yo folkses too use’ to live, far back 
yander to de times when Ginnal Washin’ton fit de 
fust big war for de white folks’ freedom, like dey 
use’ to talk about so much in de oletime fofe o’ 
July barbecue-feedin’s an’ speakin’s an’ shoutin’s. 
An’ dis is de way dat smart Mr. Fox tricked 
solium Mr. Horny Owl in dem diggin’s an’ dem 
times : 

“One day about de darkenin’ o’ de dusk, when 
Mr. Horny Owl’s huntin’ time begins, he had good 
luck at its start. In dat nigh edge o’ de night he 
flewed to some big yard trees growin’ aroun’ a 
fine house, front an’ back. All de folkses livin’ 
dar was inside de house at a hot supper in hard 
cole wedder. All de doors an’ windows was 
shot tight, an’ roarin’ wood fires blazed in dewide 
fireplaces o’ de dinin’ room an’ de parlor. 

“Right away amongst de naked trees what 
does Mr. Horny Owl see but a fine fat speckle’ 
hen roostin’ on a low limb by her lonesome se’f! 
Dat hen had come home to roost f’om de fall- 
plowed groun’ so belated she’d foun’ de henhouse 


210 HOW MR. FOX TRICKED MR. OWL 


door locked, de chicken hole shet, an’ nobody 
missin’ her. Unlike folkses, gaddin’ hens is a 
heap wusser’n roosters about keepin’ late hours. 
Mr. Rooster he^s always dar at de righteous bed- 
time to see dat all de fambly is safe at home. 

“Well, locked out like she was, contrairy Miss 
Hen had nuttin’ else to do but go to roost in dat 
tree nigh de henhouse. So, atter lookin’ aroun’ 
a little, she flewed up on de lowes’ limb, an’ went 
to bed her own wrong way; an’ dar’s whar she 
lost her luck. Moughty soon pryin’, prowlin’ 
Mr. Horny Owl cotched her an’ kilt her quicker’n 
de cook could ’a’ wrung her neck to roas’ her 
for dinner. 

“Den away flewed Mr. Horny Owl wid fat 
Miss Hen. Widout disturbin’ nobody in or about 
de house, he went straight todes de woods, totin’ 
her in his claws till he lit on a high flat-topped 
stump in de open an’ nigh de edge o’ de woods, 
which he sometimes used for his supper table. 

“Whilst he stood on dat stump, pickin’ her, he 
thunk what a fine chicken supper he’d soon have, 
an’ how much better de meat would tas’e for 
its not costin’ him nuttin’, which is likewise de 
same wid some two-legged folkses. But about 
de time Mr. Owl was finishin’ up his chicken 



I i 


De}" say you’s a fa’rly 


good chicken killer yo’se’f^ Mr. Fox! 
Page 211. 


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HOW MR. FOX TRICKED MR. OWL 2ii 


pickin’, here come Mr. Fox, slippin’ out de wood’ 
wid de night. Seein’ fedders failin’ on de foot o’ 
de stump, Mr. Fox stops still to look awhile; 
den he steps up to de stump, lif’s his keen eyes, 
an’ spies Mr. Horny Owl settin’ up dar, stoopin’ 
to begin his supper ; an’ says he : 

“‘Why, howdye, Mr. Horny Owl; ’scuse me 
for my bad manners an’ po’ eyesight : I didn’t 
see you at fust. What dat you got up dar, ef 
I mought ax you ^ ’ 

“Mr. Horny Owl, he didn’ answer nuttin’, but 
he hilt up de picked hen high enough to torment 
Mr. Fox into gittin’ still hongrier wid a good long 
look at her. He could do dat, knowin’ Mr. Fox 
couldn’ reach him dat high. 

“‘Oh, dat sho’ly is a fine lurge hen!’ ’sclaims 
Mr. Fox. ‘She’s so fat an’ lurge, Mr. Horny Owl, 
you might gimme a good piece of her widout 
missin’ it any yo’se’f.’ 

“At dat Mr. Horny Owl snaps down to him : 
‘Finders keepers, keepers eaters! Hones’ folkses 
steals for deir own livin’; an’ feets an’ fedders 
ain’t no kin ! Dey say you’s a fa’rly good chicken 
killer yo’se’f, Mr. Fox; so go ’long an’ do yo’ 
own huntin’!’ 

“An’ Mr. Fox ’sponds, polite an’ smilin’ : 


212 HOW MR. FOX TRICKED MR. OWL 


‘“Ef feets an’ fedders ain’t no kin, we bofe 
follers de same trade, an’ we should always be 
des best o’ frien’s ; an’ I’d be moughty glad 
to swap two o’ my feets for dem two fine feddered 
wings o’ yourn.’ 

‘‘At sich praise Mr. Horny Owl puffed out his 
neck fedders proud an’ shuk open his big red 
an’ black barred wings half-ways to show ’um 
off better. Den he stooped down his big head 
ag’in for his fust bite o’ chicken. But once mo’ 
Mr. Fox hilt him back by sayin’ : 

“‘Oh, Mr. Horny Owl, what a big, sharp, 
shiny beak you got to cyarve a chicken, or even 
a turkey proper ! But sho’ly a middlin’-size 
hen ain’t enough supper for a fine portly owl 
like you ’ 

“‘A minute back you had her a lurge fat hen 
big enough for you an’ me bofe : is you gwine 
to bring me a bigger one ef dis ain’t big enough 
for one.?’ snaps Mr. Owl at dat talk belittlin’ 
his grub. 

“‘Ef I only had yo’ swiP strong wings. I’d fotch 
you one a heap bigger in a hurry ; in fack, Brudder 
Horny Owl, I might even bring you a fine wile 
turkey; bekase I seed one go to roost not so far 
f’om here lesser’n one hour sence, soon atter sun- 


HOW MR. FOX TRICKED MR. OWL 213 


down/ answered Mr. Fox moughty ready an’ 
frien’ly. 

“‘Whar’s dat turkey?’ quickly axes Mr. Owl, 
turnin’ squar’ aroun’ on de stump top, facin’ 
Mr. Fox wid bofe eyes wide open to find out ef he 
was tellin’ de trufe. 

‘‘Mr. Fox’s eyes never flinched nor flickered 
befo’ dat steady, s’archin’ gaze as he said : 

“‘Well, Brudder Horny Owl, my turkey is 
high up a tol’able tall tree, an’ I cyarnt reach him 
widout wings like your’n, so I has to go dar befo’ 
day in de mawnin’ an’ wait, hid an’ ready for him, 
till he flies down to de groun’ to feed an’ gobble; 
so, as you has wings to reach him any time o’ 
night while he sleeps, my tellin’ you ’zackly whar 
he is mought be robbin’ my fambly out of a good 
turkey breakfas’.’ 

“Mr. Horny Owl turned his big eyes back on 
his picked hen ; but sence Mr. Fox’s turkey talk 
she looked a heap smaller’n she did befo’; an’ 
den says he : 

“‘Mr. Fox, ef you’ll make a fa’r an’ squar’ trade, 
what’ll you take for yo’ turkey up dat tree, knowin’ 
you ain’t able to clamb, much less to fly ?’ 

“‘Now, dealin’ wid sich a good frien’ as you, 
Brudder Horny Owl,’ says Mr. Fox, ‘I mought 


214 HOW MR. FOX TRICKED MR. OWL 


trade my big fat gobbler for yo’ lean little pullet ; 
an’, ef we does trade, you’s as good as got him — 
dat is, if you keers to swop befo’ I changes my 
mind — bekase my sleepin’ turkey in dat tall 
tree is about as safe in han’ as yo’ teensy pullet 
on top o’ dis dead stump.’ 

‘“Whar’s yo’ turkey .?’ axes Mr. Owl. 

“‘Whar’s yo’ chicken .f” ’sponds Mr. Fox. 

“By dat time Mr. Horny Owl’s hen looked so 
little to him aginst de pictur’ in his head o’ Mr. 
Fox’s turkey, he says : 

“‘Mr. Fox, dis is a moughty big chicken to 
pay for yo’ small chance at dat turkey; but, 
bein’ it’s you. I’ll trade ef you’ll tell me whar to 
find dat roost-tree.’ 

“Mr. Fox wouldn’t ’scribe de place true till 
Mr. Horny Owl handed him down de picked hen ; 
den he told it straight an’ prezackly, an’ trotted 
off home wid de fat hen in his long smilin’ mouf. 
An’ away flewed Mr. Horny Owl, hastin’ to de 
turkey-tree; pickin’ his hen had sharpened his 
appetite till he was wusser’n hongry. When he 
reaches de high roost in de full dark, sho’ enough 
dar’s de turkey, wid his body bunched up an’ 
his head tucked in, roostin’ on a bare limb mos’ 
hid by de outer leaves ! 


HOW MR. FOX TRICKED MR. OWL 215 


‘‘Soon as he sees him, Mr. Horny Owl swoops 
in an’ nabs Mr. Turkey wid beak an’ claws befo’ 
he could wake up ! 

“Out of his back fedders pops Mr. Turkey’s 
bald red head, hollerin’ : 

“‘Pshuh ! — Pshuh ! ! — Pshuh ! ! ! — who’s dat 
got me — Gre’t snakes, it’s Mr. Horny Owl ! 
— Lemme go, Mr. Horny Owl ! — Leggo ! — 
I r’aly bleeves you mistuk me for Mr. Turkey, 
good as you kin see in de darkness. Well, my 
fust name is Turkey; but Buzzard is my last!’ 

“But, befo’ Mr. Fox’s turkey had talked a word, 
Mr. Horny Owl had found out wid his nose who 
he was; an’ he turned him loose quicker’n he 
grabbed him ; an’, mos’ sneezin’ his head off atter 
de fray, he flewed away Pom dar even faster’n 
he come. An’ Mr. Turkey Buzzard, he flapped 
an’ blundered out o’ tudder side o’ de tree; an’ 
he may be gwine yit for all I knows. 

“Like I’s already done tole you, ever sence 
dat night, whenever Mr. Horny Owl happens to 
meet up wid Mr. Fox, on de hills or in de low 
groun’s, he flies down nigh him an’ flips him a flap 
or two wid his big wings, an’ he squalls at him : 

“‘Oh, you rogue, you! You rascal, you! You 
chicken robber, you !’ 


2i6 how MR. FOX TRICKED MR. OWL 


‘‘An’ Mr. Fox he des’ trots along on all fo’ 
legs or three, as he happens to be gwine. An’ 
smilin’ his funnies’, he only barks back : 

“‘Brudder Horny Owl, a chicken in de mouf is 
better’n a turkey in a tree!’ 

“So, like de book says, ‘now my story is done.’ 
Gombo Joe, kiver up dem bigges’ red chunks wid 
ashes to start de fire to-morrow mawnin’ ; an’ 
we’ll leave de rest o’ de night to de hoot owls 
an’ de horny owls. Good night. Little Mahster.” 


XVII 

WHY MR. OWL HATES MR. 
HAWK 

A S the three Boy Scouts were returning 
from a rabbit hunt with Gombo Joe 
and his pack of curs in the twilight one 
evening during the Christmas holidays, they 
were entertained by a very interesting spectacle. 
They witnessed a hot battle between a large woods 
owl or hoot owl and a hare hawk. The conflict 
was being fought in the air, close to a solitary 
live oak which had been left standing in the low 
grazing grounds between the canefields and the 
forest. 

The night bird of the woods and the day rover 
of the marshes were wheeling rapidly around the 
tree, swiftly darting at and dodging each other, 
and sometimes stopping to engage in short and 
savage clinches while they hovered on beating 
wings. These fierce assaults were followed by 


217 


21 8 WHY MR. OWL HATES MR. HAWK 


the loss of bunches of downy feathers, which 
showed that one or the other of these warriors of 
the air had struck a home thrust. They were 
nearly evenly matched ; the owl looked to be the 
larger; but his feathers were fluffed out more 
than the hawk’s, while the marsh hawk was 
much the more agile in his offensive movements 
and seemed the fiercer and more determined. 

It was a little later than the hawk’s usual 
roosting time, and rather early for the owl to 
awaken and start out on his regular night rounds 
over woods and fields ; thus there was not quite 
light enough for the hawk to see and fight his best, 
and perhaps too much to enable the owl to use his 
eyes as he might have done in the deeper dusk. 

‘‘I’ll bet on Mr. Hawk!” exclaimed Hopfrog 
admiringly, a minute after the boys had stopped 
to watch the combat: “he’ll lick Mr. Owl in 
less than no time; and Gombo Joe might have 
some nice owl soup for dinner to-morrow: eh, 
Gombo ?” 

“Yas, I like dat well, me; I been already eat 
dat sometam, an’ owl stew too; he good, yas!” 
was Gombo Joe’s unjesting reply. And really 
few Creole negroes ever let a shot owl escape 
the pot : all is game that comes to the gun ! 


WHY MR. OWL HATES MR. HAWK 219 


“And ril bet on Mr. Owl, if Mr. Hawk donT 
whip him very soon; for, when it grows just 
a little darker, Mr. Big-eyes will have all the 
seeing on his side,” responded Bumble. 

“I hopes dey bofe kills de tudder daidi” 
wishfully ejaculated Gombo Joe : ‘‘ Dey bofe 

kill de squir’l, de rabbit, an’ de chickhen too; 
an’ dey should be shoot, yas ! Ef I had one gon 
I shoot all de hawk, all de owl I see, yas!” 

Like many less unlearned boys, Gombo Joe 
was ignorant of the fact that the hare hawk is 
not a chicken stealer, and that the hawks and 
owls which do take a few chickens pay men losing 
them a million times over in the numbers of crop 
devouring rats, field mice and grasshoppers they 
destroy. 

The fierce battle between the valiant rover 
of the day and the silent-winged cruiser of the 
night was quite protracted. For all the watching 
boys knew, it may have ended with a satisfactory 
tragedy for one or both foes ; but they had to 
leave that ardently hoped for finish to the pleas- 
ures of the imagination, for, unfortunately, the 
desperate combatants, still busy with cutting 
beaks, tearing talons, and beating wings, wheeled 
into the darkening woods and were lost to view. 


220 WHY MR. OWL HATES MR. HAWK 


So there was no hearty cheering for the victor, 
or owl soup for Gombo Joe. The disappointed 
spectators of the aerial battle started homeward, 
and were soon entirely happy again over some 
other interesting subject. 

That same evening the three boys found their 
way to their faithful old colored friend’s fireside, 
with Gombo Joe toasting on the floor in the chim- 
ney corner, and, of course, their talk was all about 
the woods and the wild things. They rattled on 
about their rabbit hunt of the afternoon, and 
the respective merits and failings of Gombo’s 
dogs, each of which they knew by name ; and, last 
of all, they told of the long and furious battle 
between the hoot owl and the hare hawk. That 
fierce combat was loudly and spiritedly described 
by their combined voices in a medley of state- 
ments and corrections which rather confused 
Uncle Jason. But it amused him so much that 
he was moved to tell another woodland tale 
about those two birds, and why Mr. Hoot Owl 
hates Mr. Hare Hawk. 

“Dat ain’t de fust time, not by many a hundred 
times in many a long year, Mr. Hoot Owl an’ Mr. 
Hare Hawk has had des’ sich a battle as de one 
what you young gemmans seed in de back pastur’ 


WHY MR. OWL HATES MR. HAWK 221 


dis ebenin’ nigh dusk. Way back mos’ to de 
Bible times, when Mr. Eagle was made king o’ de 
birds in a big battle in which all o’ de Hawk kind 
fit on his side, Mr. Hoot Owl was a day hawk too. 
But when dat war beginned, he took to de big 
woods to git away f’om danger. For dat, when 
de foughtin’ was all done, he got orders to stay in 
de woods whar he had flewed f’om de trouble, 
an’ not to show his face nowhar in de day 
time. 

“To dis day Mr. Hawk ’spises Mr. Owl for not 
battlin’ wid his own breed in dat war; an’ Mr. 
Owl hates Mr. Hawk wusser for his ’spisin’ an’ 
abusin’ him. No wonder he does ; bekase, wid 
dem hard feelin’s ag’inst him, Mr. Hawk is always 
meddlin’ wid his twilight huntin’ an’ tryin’ to 
whup him when he finds him breakin’ de bird 
law and leavin’ his holler in de daylight. 

“But when King Eagle made dat law forbiddin’ 
Mr. Hoot Owl to show his face out o’ de woods in 
de daytime, he allowed him all night long to hunt 
an’ hoot in, for to make up for de loss o’ day; 
an’ no udder kind o’ meat killin’ bird was allowed 
to foller night huntin’ in or nigh Mr. Hoot Owl’s 
woods. 

“So it was de day for Mr. Hawk, an’ de night 


222 WHY MR. OWL HATES MR. HAWK 


for Mr. Hoot Owl. But de trouble about dat 
was de law didn’t say whar de day started an’ 
ended, nor de same about de night. Mr. Hoot 
Owl, he claimed he could go by de sun, dat Torn 
sundown to sunup was his time, an’ f’om sunup to 
sundown was Mr. Hawk’s time. 

“Mr. Hawk, he claimed dat his day was as 
long as it was light enough for him to see well 
enough to hunt ; ef dat looked overlong in de 
summer, it was too short in de winter — like it 
is in dese long long nights an’ short days o’ Chris’- 
mas week. 

“So it’s always in dat ’sputed twilight an’ 
dusk time betwixt sundown an’ night when Mr. 
Hawk an’ Mr. Hoot Owl has dem hard battles 
sich as you-all seed to-day. When ole King Eagle 
made dat law he never sot no time wid de sun an’ 
moon for clocks, an’ he didn’t say nuttin’ about 
de betwixt light o’ de dawn or de dusk. So Mr. 
Hawk made his own laws about dat ; an’, bein’ a 
hawk, in co’se he went a heap furder’n de law 
allows. In de dawn Mr. Owl never even hooted 
in complaint at bein’ robbed o’ his share o’ dat 
time, bekase he knowed de daylight would soon 
be too bright for his good huntin’. But, when de 
sun went down, de dusk follered, an’ de night’s 


WHY MR. OWL HATES MR. HAWK 223 


darkness was nigh, he was more’n ready to call 
for an’ fought for his rights. 

‘‘But Mr. Hawk is too much of a bully to 
bodder his head about anybody’s rights or keep 
any laws made for udder folkses. To show you 
how dat is, an’ has been for long. I’ll take up de 
fust case betwixt de two, which more’n likely 
got started same as de one you-all seed. 

“Mr. Hoot Owl hadn’t been livin’ in de woods 
an huntin’ in de darkness a week atter gittin’ his 
orders to stay dar for good when de long war be- 
twixt him an’ Mr. Hawk got started to stay. An’ 
dis is how it come to happen : 

“Mr. Rabbit raised de row widout bein’ to 
blame for it hisse’f. Soon atter sundown one 
ebenin’, he thunk he’d take a little stroll in de 
open not too far f’om de edge o’ de woods. Any 
day, todes dusk, ef you walks to de hem o’ de 
woods, hides yo’se’f, an’ keeps right still, * an’ 
waits awhile, you’ll mos’ likely see Mr. Rabbit 
doin’ dat reg’lar de same time o’ day. Den de 
cattle an’ hawgs an’ tudder kinds o’ day creetur’s 
is gone home, an’ de dangersome night varmints 
ain’t started deir roamin’ aroun’ yit. 

“Quiet as a shadder, Mr. Rabbit steps out o’ de 
woods an’ stops an’ squats down awhile, lookin’ 


224 WHY MR. OWL HATES MR. HAWK 


an’ lissenin’ for danger, ready to hop back in 
de briars in a hurry. Seein’ none, he lippetys 
along slow an’ easy, nippin’ de tender grass 
here an’ nosin’ for more dar. Atter while he 
stops, like he’s studyin’ what to do nex’, an’, 
at de same time, he looks seven ways for danger 
some mo’. 

‘‘But I wonders ef de wises’ Rabbit dat ever 
lived in de woods or rambled in de open had 
sense enough to look for trouble above him as 
well as around him 

“Swoop ! — hoot ! — swoop ! — scream ! — an’ 
doun comes two sumpens, hittin’ Mr. Rabbit 
like a couple o’ houses had fell on him : leas’wise 
it must ’a’ felt dat way to him. Mr. Hare Hawk 
had grabbed him by de shoulders, an’ Mr. Hoot 
Owl had clutched him by de hips at de same 
sudden, unexpected time ! 

‘‘Mr. Rabbit squealed his loudes’, like he knowed 
his time had sholy come ; an’ he lay flat down an’ 
give up ; bekase one o’ dem strong rabbit killers 
was more’n enough to hold him still an’ finish him, 
let alone two sich failin’ on him at de same time 
togedder. 

“But befo’ Mr. Hawk an’ Mr. Hoot Owl had 
got a good tight claw-holt on Mr. Rabbit, Mr. 


WHY MR. OWL HATES MR. HAWK 225 

Hawk’s yaller eyes blazes like nigh lightnin’, an’ 
he screams madly to Mr. Hoot Owl : 

“‘What you doin’ huntin’ in de daytime, you 
narsty ole night ha’nt, you ? — Dis is my rabbit ! — 
Han’s ofF o’ my killin’s ! — Let him alone, I say !’ 

“An’ Mr. Hoot Owl’s big eyes grows a heap 
bigger still, an’ brightens like de high moon as 
he hollers to Mr. Hare Hawk : 

“‘What you doin’ huntin’ in de night, you 
day robber, you .? — Leggo dis rabbit yo’se’f, 
ef you don’t want to git hurted bad !’ 

“‘Hurt who, ole Goggle-eyes? You hurt me/' 
screams Mr. Hare Hawk. An’, wid dat, he pulls 
his crooked right foot loose f’om its shoulder- 
holt on Mr. Rabbit, an’ he kicks Mr. Hoot Owl a 
hard bifF, in de short ribs. 

“‘Who — who — who’s dat you hittin’ !’ hoots 
Mr. Owl ; an’ he comes back in a hurry at Mr. 
Hare Hawk wid one o’ his long-clawed feets loosed 
f’om its hip-holt. 

“At dat, Mr. Hawk turns loose his tudder foot 
an’ lets it fly in a hard scratchin’ lick at Mr. 
Hoot Owl’s big roun’ face. An’ Mr. Owl gits 
busy kickin’ an’ clawin’ wid bofe o’ his feets, too, 
an’ bitin’ besides ! I tell you dey had a time of it, 
gwine at it teefs an’ toe nails, befo’ dey’d had a 


226 WHY MR. OWL HATES MR. HAWK 


chance to mor’n tickle Mr. Rabbit wid deir claw- 
holts. 

“Den Mr. Rabbit, seein’ dat somehow trouble 
had turned him loose for a time, skeered mos’ 
dead as he was, got back enough of his seven 
gone senses to hop up on his heels an’ toes an’ 
light out at his fastes’ licks for his home in de 
briars. An’ all Mr. Hoot Owl an’ Mr. Hare Hawk 
ever seed o’ him, den or forever atterward, was 
glimpses of his white tail bobbin’ in de bushes, 
gittin’ away Pom dar ! 

“‘You made me loose my rabbit! — You let 
my rabbit git away Pom me !’ screams Mr. Hawk 
an’ hoots Mr. Owl, over an’ over ag’in, as dey fit 
harder for it. An’ de loss o’ deir supper made 
bofe so mad till dey fit an’ dey fou’t till dey for- 
got what about, like two wranglin’ lawyers in a 
lurge cotehouse case whar nobody gits de propity. 

“But in dat fust battle over who owned Mr. 
Rabbit dem quar’lsome birds never settled de 
question about deir rightful huntin’ time; nor 
did dey do it everatter. An’, when Mr. Hare 
Hawk screams in de brightenin’ o’ de dawn, Mr. 
Hoot Owl never sends him no last insultin’ hoot 
befo’ he turns in to sleep out de day. But, when 
Mr. Hawk screams to scare game afoot, huntin’ 


WHY MR. OWL HATES MR. HAWK 227 


in de dusk, Mr. Owl never stops to hoot at him; 
he hunts him, an’ sails into him hissin’ : ‘ it’s my 
huntin’-time now!’ 

“An’ any wise ole Mr. Rabbit who hears de 
Hawk’s scream an’ de Owl’s hoot or hiss in de 
twilight stays in hidin’ or he flees for home befo’ 
de beginnin’ o’ sich rows ; like he don’t mean to 
git mixed in any big battle betwixt Mr. Hoot 
Owl an’ Mr. Hare Hawk.” 


XVIII 

THE LONE EGRET AND 
HIS LOST MATE 

W HILE the family at Birdland planta- 
tion were seated on the front gallery 
of the mansion, one evening in March, 
they heard the calls of home-coming night herons 
returning from the tropical lands in which they 
had passed the winter. The notes of these high- 
flying birds sounded like the distant blasts of 
small trumpets until they died away in the direc- 
tion of a dense cypress swamp several miles from 
the plantation. When those dark, mottled herons 
of the night could be heard no more, the father 
proposed to tell his son and daughter a story 
about some very much fairer and daintier herons 
of the day. That offer being quickly and gladly 
accepted he began this tale : 

“Twenty years since, there was a belt of coastal 
swamp, over thirty miles distant from here in 
a direct line, bordering the northern edge of the 
228 


THE LONE EGRET AND HIS LOST MATE 229 

wide marsh which extends to the Gulf of Mexico. 
That swamp was about fifty miles long and ten 
miles wide. The Gulf marsh south of it is threaded 
by numberless winding bayous and dotted with 
hundreds of lakes and lagoons — enough to ac- 
commodate all of the migratory waterfowl of 
America if the birds were not molested there by 
hordes of market hunters. 

“In the heart of that dismal wooded swamp 
north of the treeless marsh, lies a lonely little 
lake, the scene of this story. Around the hidden 
lake, at that time, towered a host of ancient 
cypress trees, from whose ghostly gray trunks 
and limbs hung and swung long and even grayer 
festoons of moss, as if these tall trees were still 
wearing the beards and tresses of forgotten cen- 
turies. Farther back in the swamp the gloom was 
too dense to be pierced by the noon sun, and the 
silence was so deep that the sighing of the foliage 
far above did not disturb it but seemed rather to 
intensify the stillness of the old woods. 

“To increase this lake’s solitude with a touch 
of the loneliness of wild life, a single male egret, 
white as snow, stood on a half submerged log, 
lying stranded a short distance out from its shore. 
Through the shining afternoon hours and the 


230 THE LONE EGRET AND HIS LOST MATE 


setting of the sun, until the twilight deepened to 
dusk, the solitary bird stood there almost motion- 
less. His long and slender neck was drawn in 
until his head rested on his shoulders, while he 
appeared to be sorrowfully musing and indifferent 
to his surroundings. While he was thus standing, 
like a white statue typifying the spirit of sorrow, 
he was suddenly recalled to life. A gray bird, 
streaked with stripes of yellow and brown, stalked 
noiselessly out of the swamp’s gloom with slow 
and stately steps, waded as silently through the 
shallow water out to the half-sunken log, flapped 
up on it, and gave the brooding heron a harsh 
squawk of greeting. 

“The hermit bittern, or Goblin of the Swamps 
intended that very discordant salutation as a 
most cordial welcome to a visiting wanderer ; 
but the melody of his voice was very much out 
of harmony with the kindness of his heart; and 
the musing egret was almost startled out of his 
wits by the unnoticed arrival of this Goblin of 
the Gloom with his harsh and hearty greeting. 
In great alarm, he stretched his neck and lifted 
his snowy wings to take instant flight ; but the 
old hermit-bittern gently yet firmly held him 
back, squawking : 


THE LONE EGRET AND HIS LOST MATE 231 

“‘Pray remain, my dear cousin; there is 
plenty of room here for us both, and you must 
find it rather lonesome for a flock bird. I am 
delighted to meet you and enjoy your good com- 
pany. If you feel afraid of staying longer in an 
unfamiliar place, I will look out for you; for I 
am the Goblin of the Swamps, feared by men 
because they can never find the source of my 
voice. Here you may be the white spirit of my 
lake; and I will guard you safely as long as you 
care to stay.’ 

“After returning the Goblin’s greeting in a 
voice almost as squawky, the egret (which is the 
slimmest and trimmest of all the heron kind) took 
a good long look at his host. The old fellow was 
quite stout of body for a member of the heron 
family (as he is), and his legs were rather short 
and stumpy for a bird of a high-standing branch 
of it; his big gray head was beginning to grow 
bald from the attacks of time, and his bill was 
worn somewhat blunt. But, old and homely as 
he was, he had brightly beaming eyes, a genial 
and benevolent heart, and an honest and very 
open countenance. The bittern broke the silence 
by observing to his guest, in tones of deep sym- 
pathy : 


232 THE LONE EGRET AND HIS LOST MATE 


“‘You seem very sorrowful, Cousin Egret; 
may I ask you why ? ’ 

“Then the egret was able to tell his tale of 
woe to a friendly listener for the first time ; and 
he mournfully croaked to his kind and ungainly 
cousin a story tragic enough to bring tears to the 
eyes of tender-hearted birds or humane men ; 
and this is his very pitiful tale : 

“‘The summer has now not long been here, 
and, with the coming of the spring that has passed, 
I returned on the third like vovage of my life 
from a far land across the sea. I was one of a 
White Company two hundred strong, and our 
flying files were guided by a wise old Captain 
who, for many a year before my life began, had 
led our band back and forth over the sea in the 
changing seasons, ever guiding them home by 
the one star of the night which never moves. 

“‘In the last return flight — as in others — 
when we reached our home coast where the waves 
beat on the low beaches, we stopped and scattered, 
for a time, and flew to the near lagoons of the 
marshes to seek the rest and food we needed. 
There we found many hundreds of different heron 
families gathered for the same purpose; great 
herons, blue and gray; white herons, much taller 


THE LONE EGRET AND HIS LOST MATE 233 

than we ; herons that hid in the marsh grass and 
foolishly squawked loud where they were hidden ; 
herons that perched on the low limbs of bushes 
leaning over the water to spear fish passing be- 
neath them; tiny brown and yellow herons that 
nimbly climbed to the tops of tall rushes and 
reed stems ; and herons that were very noisy in 
the night. 

“‘In that marsh we mated, and then we sought 
our nesting place, which was at the nearer edge 
of the great swamp, an hour’s flight distant. Our 
nests were hurriedly built in the tops of the tall 
trees in suitable branch forks. Then, when our 
mates had laid their eggs and remained at home 
to hatch them, we formed in line high above the 
trees, and flew to the distant lagoons and shoals 
to find food for them and for ourselves. We did 
thus several times between the dawn and the 
dark of every day, bearing home to our sitting 
mates many fish, frogs, and water serpents, which 
we speared with our sharp bills in the shoal waters 
or on their muddy shores. 

“‘Our heronry had long remained unharmed 
in that nesting season ; but our happiness was not 
to last. One day, soon after the sun set, as we 
were on our last homeward flight, we beheld three 


234 the lone egret AND HIS LOST MATE 


small boats, pirogues as they are called by the 
men who live in them much, which were in a 
bayou about halfway between our feeding lagoons 
and our heronry. In those hateful boats were 
six men, with brown faces and hands and much 
hair over their heads and faces. Their clothes, 
which were stained with streaks of mud and blood, 
were of the color of the dead grass in the marsh. 
Two men were in each boat ; and they all had 
those very noisy and terrible things which men 
call guns. When they saw us coming toward them, 
they all quickly laid in their boats the paddles 
with which they move them in the water more 
swiftly than a serpent swims, and still more 
quickly took up the guns which lay beside them. 
Being much alarmed by such signs of evil intent 
toward us, we soared upward, without changing 
our course, and passed over those guns higher than 
they could send death, the distance of safety 
from them having been taught by old leaders to 
all of our kind. The men then put down their 
guns, gazed at us hard, pointed up at us with 
their hairy hands, talked all together very loudly, 
and followed our line of flight with their upturned 
faces until we lost sight of them in the low mist 
rising over the marsh. 


THE LONE EGRET AND HIS LOST MATE 235 

‘“The next day we saw no more of those dread- 
ful creatures ; but on that following we were not 
so fortunate. The dawn light was dim when we 
started on our first flight to the far lagoons, 
hastened to our work by the hungry cries of 
hundreds of newly-hatched nestlings, for the 
sitting time was mostly finished. 

‘“With the first of the returning food bearers 
I reached the heronry as* the sun rose. We were 
descending to the nests with slowly flapping wings 
when six guns roared up at us from the ground, 
where the men had made hiding places in the 
night. Our beloved old Captain, who had so 
often guided his White Company safely home 
over the stormy sea, fell dead, with several of 
his nearest followers. 

‘“The frightened mother birds rose with many 
cries, and hovered like a shifting white cloud 
over the attacked heronry. The incoming files 
of males wheeled off over the marshes in wild 
alarm; but, with their fears mastered by love 
for their families, they kept advancing to join 
them and share their fate. In response to the 
deadly thunder below, the white cloud whirling 
over the nest trees rained down the bodies of 
slain birds, and the circling squads coming in 


236 THE LONE EGRET AND HIS LOST MATE 

from the marshes were soon reduced to a scattered 
few who seemed to have become reckless of death. 

“‘At last I alone was left alive, although I had 
remained with my murdered comrades to the 
end. They had all fallen, and my mate lay on 
the ground among the dead, where those men 
monsters were collecting their victims and piling 
them in a heap which grew steadily higher. Car- 
ing not to live longer, while all I loved lay dead, 
I alighted on a tree over our nest. The men 
looked up at me with angry faces ; but they did 
not kill me also, which, I believe, was because they 
had no more death thunder for their guns. Full 
of horror, I beheld them pluck the plumes and tear 
the skins and wings from the slaughtered birds, 
while they gave no heed to the many downy 
nestlings which had been slain and knocked from 
their nests by the cruel guns, nor to those left 
alive to suffer long and perish of hunger. 

“‘Completely overcome by this sudden and 
awful calamity, I remained until the “Feather 
hunters”, as they called themselves, had finished 
their horrible work, stuffed their feathers in bags, 
and carried them off to their boats. When I 
regained my senses I flew swiftly away to bear 
the tidings of the terrible massacre to the few 


THE LOT^E EGRET AND HIS LOST MATE 


237 


other egret heronries of the swamp. But they 
had been likewise entirely destroyed ; and I 
could not, after a long and weary search, find one 
of my kind living. Therefore, full of sorrow and 
hopeless, I have come to this lost lake to finish 
my life alone as the last of our White Company.’ 

‘‘The sympathetic old hermit bittern tried as 
best he could to console the mourner; and he 
predicted that no man’s canoe would ever glide 
over his glassy lake, and no man’s foot ever tread 
its hidden shores. As a far-seeing Goblin he 
prophesied further that a day was soon coming 
when the egret would rejoin his kind, help rebuild 
his heronry, and again cross the seas in goodly 
company. He foretold, still further, that in that 
good time coming, all of the egret kind in this 
country would be saved from the cruelty of men 
who are moved by the vanity of their mates, and 
the female of human kind would become too 
merciful to demand the murder of a whole egret 
heronry for the adornment of a hat or dress. 

“Thus the old Goblin of the Swamps hopefully 
talked until he began to grow drowsy; and, 
seeing the wake of a hunting alligator rippling 
in the lake under the early starlight, he advised 
the egret to seek a safer place for the night in the 


238 THE LONE EGRET AND HIS LOST MATE 


nearest cypress tree. When this wise advice was 
sensibly followed, the ancient hermit stalked 
silently back into the deep darkness of the swamp, 
and, with his hollow voice that comes from the 
nowhere, boomed good night to all birds, beasts, 
and reptiles living in his lonely realms. 

‘‘Near sunrise the next morning the egret 
returned to the same log, and there speared a 
lazy frog and an unwary water-snake for his 
breakfast. That meal restored his strength, but 
failed to revive his drooping spirits, for he stood 
all day exactly as he had done the day before, 
brooding over his bereavement until twilight. 
Then he was again joined by the cheerful and 
hopeful old Goblin of the Gloom, who could not 
endure the glare of the summer-day. 

“Thus, lonely and sorrowful, the egret passed 
a week or ten days ; then, in the mid-afternoon 
of a long summer-day, as he stood on his log, only 
drowsily conscious, he fancied that he heard the 
far and faint questing note of his kind. He did 
not heed it at first, perhaps thinking it a voice 
of his dreams. The far note again fell from the 
blue above him ; and, wide-awake at once, he 
stretched his neck, raised his head, and answered 
the distant cry. Again and more clearly the call 


THE LONE EGRET AND HIS LOST MATE 239 

came down ; and he caught sight of the set wings 
of some white bird sailing like a filmy bit of 
floating thistledown away up in the sky. Nearer 
wheeled those white wings until they shone like 
silver in the sunlight. Nearer circled the de- 
scending stranger, with widely spread, unmoving 
pinions ; and the old familiar call of the White 
Company thrilled the ear and the throbbing heart 
of the waiting watcher. 

“A final wheel and a forward swoop with 
bowed wings, and another egret alighted on the 
log near the first ! 

‘‘It was the lone egret’s lost mate of the mur- 
dered heronry ! 

“The two birds instantly rushed together with 
much billing and many wing caresses, and every 
other demonstration of rapture known to heron 
life. When all of that was finished, for a time, 
fair Lady Egret also had a sad tale to tell ; and 
its recital required all of the remainder of that 
afternoon. 

“The female egret had been painfully but not 
dangerously wounded in the beginning of the 
attack on the heronry by a single pellet of shot, 
which had pierced her body without touching 
her vitals. She had fallen almost to the ground 


240 THE LONE EGRET AND HIS LOST MATE 


from the shock of it, but had recovered the use 
of her wings before reaching it; and, thinking 
her hurt mortal, she had flown deep into the swamp 
to die out of the sight of men and the sound of 
guns. After several days of intense suffering 
her wound healed, and she gradually regained 
her full strength of body and wings. Then she 
rose above the forest and flew back home to find 
that the ruthless hand of man had made the 
heronry the nesting place of death instead of that 
home of happy bird life which it had been so many 
years. Fearing that scene of horror, she set out 
on a long search of all the swamp and the out- 
lying marshes for her lost mate, hoping, against 
her fears, to find him ; and at last, wing-weary 
and despairing, she was rewarded. 

‘‘That very season, late as it was, the re-united 
pair nested and started a new heronry in the tall 
trees near the lonely lake. Fortunately it was 
never found by the feather hunters then nor in 
the passing years ; and in time the lone egret that 
went to that lake to mourn and die led another 
White Company, as large as that which had been 
so brutally destroyed, in its migrations across the 
Gulf. 

“From that heronry others were founded and 


THE LONE EGRET AND HIS LOST MATE 241 


are now existing in what remains of our coastal 
swamp, and even around the private homes of 
merciful men in the chain of those beautiful 
elevated islands of Louisiana that overlook the 
blue Gulf. And everywhere in the state the egrets 
are safely guarded by human law against guns 
and the murderous raids of nest robbers. 

‘‘That Gray Goblin of the Gloom, the hermit 
bittern, still lives and booms in his distant dismal 
swamp ;■ and perhaps the half-wild hunters who 
hear him still suspect that his harsh and hollow 
voice may be that of a lone lost spirit in the land 
of nowhere. But the egrets all know that it is 
but the genial talk of a kindly old cousin of theirs ; 
and, most likely, they all love him, despite his 
being the homeliest-looking and the harshest 
squawking of all the branches of the very dis- 
tinguished heron family.” 


XIX 

HOW PONIES CAME TO THE 
ATTAKAPAS 

T his final story about the Louisiana 
Indians was told by the father of Little 
Boss to that boy and his fellow scouts as 
they all sat around the fire one long winter even- 
ing. 

“You boys have heard the ancient legend of 
how the black wolf and the prairie wolf appeared 
in the dark woods and wide prairies of the Atta- 
kapas Indians, and how the fierce cougar first 
came to their forest of the ‘Long River.’ Those 
legends are familiar to many children of the 
white people who inhabit the lands of that long- 
vanished tribe of Redmen which once lived in 
the southwestern quarter of Louisiana. But, a 
hundred years or more after the happening of 
the marvelous events narrated in them, something 


242 


HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 243 


still more wonderful occurred in the Attakapas 
country, according to the chronicles of that 
large and interesting lost tribe. 

“Those two other tales are so ancient they 
might be considered myths of American antiq- 
uity; but this last legend that I am going to 
relate belongs to historic times, as it comes in a 
period after the Spanish conquest of Mexico. 
But this period was long before the Princess 
Pocahontas saved the life of Captain John Smith, 
or the Pilgrim Fathers landed on Plymouth Rock. 
At all events this tale is so venerable that it must 
have lost some of its original coloring and trim- 
mings in the four centuries of its transmission 
through numerous generations of savages. What 
I am about to narrate came through colonial 
explorers, to whom it was told by rulers of the 
Attakapas tribe. 

“The principal town of the Attakapas was in 
the prairie country, a few miles west of their 
great forest of the ‘Long River’, or Atchafalaya: 
a name of length to suit the stream. The most 
agile and least stupid young Indian who lived in 
that town at the time of this tale was named 
Apac, for short — in the long tribal lingo it was : 
‘ Apac-Brother-Of-Wolves.’ He was counted 


244 HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 


the swiftest runner, the best bowman, and the 
finest buffalo hunter in the tribe. Being so near 
nature in raiment and surroundings, he got nearer 
it still by studying and copying it closely, and 
thus obtained much profit and consequent fame. 
By learning to watch the ways and wiles of his 
totem brother, the wolf, he stalked and slew single 
outlying or straggling buffaloes and thus became 
a famous hunter. His much farther-reaching 
bow was far more fatal to the roaming or recum- 
bent herds than were his wolf brothers’ fangs. 

“Apac never molested wolves, and, mysteri- 
ously, they always respected the meat of his 
many kills, although they were ready enough to 
rob any other hunter of his hidden game. The 
head Medicine Man or Prophet of the tribe 
claimed that this singular wolf favor to Apac 
came from his great magic, which he had worked 
for that young hunter when he gave him the 
sacred totem symbol of wolf brotherhood. But, 
more than likely, it resulted from Apac’s having 
learned to rub his game with some juice of weed 
or vine very offensive to wolves, a trick other 
hunters learned later. 

“Like wily Brother Wolf, Apac always stalked 
grazing or resting buffalo with the wind in his 


HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 245 


face ; and, as he stole nearer, he crouched in the 
high grass and crawled on all fours — still wolf- 
like. When within close bowshot, with incredible 
quickness, he sent three or four arrows into the 
nearest bulFalo, so as to wound it badly enough 
to make it a weak straggler soon left far behind 
the startled and stampeded herd. Then he could 
easily follow and finish it alone. Just as the wolves 
killed the stragglers of the buffalo herds in the 
long-gone years before their human brothers sent 
all of the wild herds in this country to the Happy 
Hunting Grounds. 

‘‘Very early one morning Apac went off buffalo 
hunting alone, as usual ; and, as he passed one of 
the larger family lodges, his dimly seen form was 
followed by the proud and loving eyes of a young 
maid, who peeped at him through slightly parted 
skin curtains. Nishta was her name, and she 
was a girl of surpassing charms, from a native 
point of view, and she might have made a fine 
model for a modern bronze statuette. 

“Nishta had promised Apac to be his first 
squaw; and they were to be wed when the last 
buffalo hide necessary to finish covering the poles 
of their new tepee was procured. Only one more 
hide was needed, and Apac was on his way to 


246 HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 


get that ; consequently he departed on his hunt 
happy and hopeful. 

“But, soon after the setting of that day’s sun, 
Apac returned without hide or meat, looking like 
a different man. He was silent, gloomy, and 
morose. Evidently something much more serious 
than the disappointing failure of his hunt must 
have happened to him. For some days he re- 
mained in this strange state, and would tell no 
one what troubled him so heavily; not even 
Nishta ; although in those ancient savage times 
it was the women who sacredly kept secrets ; and 
the men who quickly circulated them. 

“But this burden locked up in Apac’s breast 
was too big and heavy to hold long, so he solemnly 
confided it to his best hunting friend, he to his 
best, and he to hisy and so on, until at least a 
dozen had heard what it was. Then the twelfth 
man carried it, considerably enlarged, to the 
council fire. 

“In good weather all of the married, middle- 
aged, and old men held a nightly gathering in a 
limited park near the center of the camp. There 
they grouped about several fires arranged in a 
circle around the central council fire, where sat 
the Chief, the Prophet, and several lower digni- 


HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 247 

taries of the tribe. There all official business 
was transacted, complaints were heard, and 
offenses tried and judged. But this assemblage 
was more of a primitive social club, where hunters 
and warriors boasted about their feats in the chase 
or in war, and gossiped over current events until 
it was time to go home to their wigwams and 
their wives. 

“The members of the Council were so much 
amazed at the dimensions of that twelfth-hand 
tale of Apac’s strange experience that they ordered 
him to be forthwith brought before them to tell 
his own story. And this was its substance as he 
related it in the third person, according to custom : 

“‘Five suns are gone since Apac went to hunt 
the buffalo, while the morning star was still bright 
in the sky. Apac walked far but very fast, and 
reached a resting herd while the sun was rising. 
As he drew his first arrow to shoot at the chosen 
buffalo, all of the herd suddenly leaped to its feet 
at once and fled away together, with a noise like 
the rumble of far thunder. When Apac stood 
up to learn the cause of their fear and flight he 
beheld messengers from the Great-Spirit-Of-Good, 
or from the Great-Spirit-Of-Evil, attacking the 
flanks of the fleeing herd. These godlings or 


248 HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 

demons were more in number than the fingers on 
Apac’s two hands. They had double bodies ; 
the body of a beast larger than a bull elk, and the 
body of a man without legs. They had two heads ; 
one larger than that of the bull elk, but without 
horns, and the other like the feathered head of a 
brave on the warpath. They had four legs, 
stouter and shorter than those of the bull elk, but 
more swift ; and each had a bushy and long tail. 
The man part of each double body bore a short 
bow, with which it shot, from very near, many 
arrows of death into the running herd. Very soon 
they slew as many buffaloes as might have made 
a great feast for a large tribe of men, even the 
Attakapas, or even a sufficient meal for their 
mighty Master Spirit. Then, most awful of all, 
these double man-beast beings stopped near 
their dead buffaloes, and each divided itself into 
man and beast ! The man parts, showing that 
they also had legs, started to butcher the slaugh- 
tered buffaloes, while the beast parts walked away 
and grazed on the buffalo grass ! At that sight, 
Apac, totem brother of the wise and swift wolf, 
remained no longer. He lowered his head in the 
high grass and turned to take the long way home ; 
first he crawled flat on the ground like the ser- 


HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 249 

pent ; then he crouched low, as the wolf retreats ; 
and then he rose to his feet and ran like the fleet 
deer. That is what Apac saw; his true talk is 
done.’ 

‘‘The story was so stupendous that the wise 
men of the Council looked very grave and told 
Apac that he must have dreamed it while drink- 
ing the magic juice of the aloe cactus. In vain 
Apac protested that he had seen what he told in 
the light of the newly-risen sun, and that he had 
never even tasted the intoxicating cactus juice. 
Then the Council solemnly declared that the God 
of the Sun or of the Moon must have touched 
Apac’s head and taken away his mind ; for thus 
these Gods took back for their own use the minds 
of men who could see more and further than other 
mortals. 

“Thus the Council decided to turn Apac over 
to the Medicine Men to learn if the Gods had 
taken back his mind, so that the tribe might always 
pay him due respect for having been thus honored 
by the Gods of the Sun and Moon. But, after 
subjecting him to all of their magical learning 
and watching him closely for a week, these At- 
takapas masters of medicine gravely declared 
that Apac’s mind remained with him, as he ate. 


250 HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 


drank, walked, talked, and loved like other men ; 
and that he was really affected by a malady which 
he had received from the Great-Spirit-Of-Evil, 
which was an untruthful tongue. 

‘‘Thus Apac was again brought before the 
Council and, without further trial, found guilty 
of lying xo the rulers of his own people and against 
the Great Spirit about His having made impos- 
sible creatures. According to their ancient tribal 
law, it was held highly virtuous to lie to other 
tribes or nations, but treasonable to be untruthful 
to one’s own people. Apac still stoutly main- 
tained that he had dreamed no dreams and seen 
no drunken visions, but told only the truth ; that 
he dared not offend the Great Spirit by denying 
that He had made, or could make, such double 
beings ; and he invoked the Great Spirit to slay 
him where he stood with the flaming barbed 
arrow of the lightning if he had spoken falsely 
of that which he had seen. 

“The lightning failed to strike Apac; but the 
Council decided to serve him worse for his con- 
tinued defiance; and determined to torture him 
by fire into telling the truth. Then, if he still 
stubbornly refused, he should be burnt to death 
at the stake. After making due arrangements 


HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 251 


for the fire test at the rising of the sun, the Council 
broke up and went home ; while Apac was tightly 
bound and taken as a doomed prisoner to an 
empty tepee to be kept under guard of a reliable 
sentinel through his last sleep. 

“About three hours after midnight, when the 
darkness is deepest and the silence most intense, 
as Apac lay in the back of the tepee stoically 
musing over the morrow’s doom, he heard the 
mournful wail of a she wolf unusually near the 
western edge of the village. Very soon afterward 
he felt the light touch of a woman’s hand on his 
own, and then the noiseless cutting of the tough 
hide thongs which bound his arms behind his 
back. When that was done the haft of a hunt- 
ing knife was thrust in his right hand, and the 
arm and hand that gave it was quickly withdrawn 
through a slit in the skin wall of his prison. He 
had hardly finished cutting his thicker leg thongs 
when he again heard the wolf wail, still nearer in 
the darkness. The sentinel walked a little way 
toward the sound to frighten the thieving creature 
out of the village. 

“Noiseless as his totem brother, Apac slipped 
beneath the back of the tepee ; and there crouched 
Nishta, who gave him his bow and full quiver of 


252 HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 


arrows, and a quick parting embrace. Then she 
fled swiftly and silently into the dark village while 
he ran as silently toward the prairie. In the op- 
posite direction from his flight the prairie wolf 
wailed nearer than ever. The returning sentinel 
passed the tepee and, mystified by the boldness 
of this lone wolf, stole nearer toward it, fearing 
to meet a wolf gone mad. But, hearing it no 
more, he went back to the tepee to take a look at 
his prisoner, only to find that he had departed. 
Knowing that an instant alarm would result in 
a fruitless chase and his own disgrace, he remained 
at his post and fixed up a fine story to clear him- 
self of blame for the prisoner’s escape ; and there 
at dawn he was found in a fit on the ground. 

“When the members of the Council awoke and 
were getting ready to attend Apac’s fiery funeral, 
they were hastily summoned to restore the sen- 
tinel, who soon grew strong enough to tell this 
amazing tale : 

“‘Mighty Magic set Apac free, an hour before 
the dawn, and made himself dumb and dead after- 
ward. From the north, the south, the east, and 
the west, the Great Evil Spirit had sent four 
enormous wolves to the tepee, at the same time, 
to take Apac away from his just judges. One of 


HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 253 

these terrible Wolf-Spirits-Without-Voice attacked 
him, and, while he fought with it, the three others 
rushed into the tepee, cut Apac’s bonds like a 
knife with their teeth, and he ran away with them 
in the darkness with spirit-wolf speed. As a 
faithful sentinel he fought hard with the fourth 
spirit-wolf, and thrust his long knife many times 
into that beast ; but it showed no wound ; and, 
when the others ran away with Apac in the dark- 
ness, it turned and followed its brothers. And 
what could a faithful sentinel and brave warrior 
do in guarding a captive in league with the Evil 
One who sent his own wicked spirit-wolves to 
take him away 

‘‘The Attakapas’ wise men not only swallowed 
that immense story whole, but they warmly com- 
mended the bewitched or bedeviled sentinel and 
congratulated him that the ferocious were-wolves 
of the Great Evil Spirit had not torn him to pieces 
or taken him to the place of torment in revenge 
for daring to guard as a captive such a manifest 
friend of their all-powerful Master of Wickedness. 

“Thus, like Ishmael, Apac became a lone wan- 
derer of a prairie desert, where now are fertile 
plains populated by millions of people. But, 
before the passing of many moons, the outlawed 


254 HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ' ATTAKAPAS 

hunter again beheld the man-beast godlings or 
demons that he had seen before. They were 
cantering over the level prairie, casting great 
long shadows in the light of the rising sun. There 
was no growth high enough for concealment, and 
no hope for human feet to escape speedy four- 
footed godlings ! With very manlike whoops the 
horsemen swooped down on Apac as soon as they 
caught sight of him, captured him, took away his 
bow, and made him take a back seat on their 
strongest steed. As he was of strange face and 
speech, they carried him as a curiosity to their 
home town, several hundred miles distant in 
Mexico, near the Rio Grande. After showing 
the captive to their people, they turned him over 
to the Council. 

“Those rulers held a- long and reflective debate 
as to whether the young stranger should be burnt 
in sacrifice to the Sun-God with a consequent 
pleasant public entertainment, or be adopted into 
the tribe as a hunter of community meat, for he 
was a very athletic young Indian. The latter 
plan was earnestly urged by the leader of the 
hunting party that had captured him, for after 
Apac had overcome his horror of a horse, he learned 
quickly to ride like his captors and he was a better 


HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 255 

bowman. So the Council decided to let him 
live with the tribe on trial for a year. But, long 
before his allotted time was up, he was officially 
adopted as a tribe member and assigned to serv- 
ice with the hunters who had brought him home. 

“Thus a year passed away without Nishta’s 
ever seeing or hearing of her lost lover. But she 
remained faithful to him, although almost hope- 
less of his return. She rejected many suitors who 
insisted that it was foolish and useless for her to 
wait for Apac any longer, because a truthful and 
brave old warrior of the tribe had seen Apac taken 
away by spirit wolves, and the Prophet said the 
Evil One had called him to live in his endless 
cavern under the world, where the muttering, 
moaning thunder goes when it falls from the 
clouds. 

“But, at last, a night came when the waiting 
Nishta heard the thrice-repeated wooing wails 
of a prairie wolf coming from a low mound west 
of the town. Hourly that night came the triple 
wolf calls from that former trysting place where 
she and Apac met. And the next morning she 
got out and freshened up her packed-away bridal 
outfit of fawn skins, otter-furs, and bird feathers. 

“The next night she heard only two wolf wails 


256 HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 


at similar intervals, and the night following only 
the one long mating call of a lone wolf. 

‘‘The wolf voice was silent, at the time of the 
first call, the fourth night; and Nishta dressed 
herself in her best skin raiment for traveling, 
wrapped her other clothes and her bridal array 
in a fawn-skin bag, and quietly left the family 
lodge. In the darkness she stole away to the 
trysting mound nearly a mile from the town, and 
there waited with hope-filled heart. Very soon 
she heard a sound that she took to be the grass- 
muffled hoof beats of a single running buffalo, 
rapidly approaching the mound. 

“A few seconds later one of Apac’s man-beast 
godlings bounded up to her out of the dark and 
suddenly stopped. Its man part leaped to the 
ground, grasped her in his arms, and then mounted 
the beast part again ; and she found herself in 
Apac’s close embrace being borne toward the 
town with most amazing speed. 

“The Attakapas Council was in session, with 
the usual surrounding throng, when all of them 
were astounded at the sight of Apac as the upper 
part of an evil double demon, holding Nishta 
before him, and bounding whooping up to their 
circle of fires. Thrice around the ring of fires 



“ Tlirice around the ring of fires he rode on his snorting, coal- 
black stallion.” Page 256. 




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HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 257 

he rode on his snorting, coal-black stallion ; and, 
as he rode, he loudly chanted a song of triumph 
he had made up to suit the great occasion. Then, 
more safely then any later young Lochinvar, he 
galloped away into the west and the night. 

“The Council adjourned with great indecorum 
and the crowd dispersed in howling terror ; Chief, 
warriors, and hunters hastily fled to their wig- 
wams to put on their most potent magic charms ; 
and the Medicine Men ran as rapidly to their 
sacred temple to work more magic and beat the 
holy tom-toms, to drive the terrible Apac demon 
with his poor female captive back to the Evil 
One’s abode. 

“For four Moons not a word was heard of the 
lost Nishta after she had thus been borne oflF into 
the darkness toward the evening star. Then 
came a morning of another general panic when 
a pair of led ponies was seen approaching the 
Attakapas town from the western prairie. The 
man part was missing; but, with hide halters, 
the ponies were quietly following a walking human 
herald, who was unarmed and wearing his peace 
paint. 

“When the bravest Attakapas warriors had 
sufficiently overcome their fears to meet the 


258 HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 

herald, he handed them a picture parchment 
from Apac to Nishta’s father, which was at once 
taken to the wise men of the Council. They 
soon deciphered it to be a sign letter from Apac 
presenting the ponies to his father-in-law in pay- 
ment for his stolen daughter. 

‘'When all the Attakapas Indians present were 
finally convinced that these new creatures were 
harmless, and the most gentle and serviceable 
animals that the Great Spirit had ever given to 
men, they all sorely envied Nishta’s father; and, 
in sign language, he asked the herald to tell Apac 
that he would give him two more daughters for 
one more pony. 

“The herald then informed his hosts by sign 
that he had hidden his own horse behind the 
wolf mound before the dawn, and he would 
now bring him up and put him through his paces 
to teach them all horse sense. After he had 
showed the amazed and admiring crowd all of 
the horse and rider feats of the most expert Indian 
horsemanship, they feasted and honored him for 
a day and night. In departing he delivered 
another sign letter to the Council, which was 
deciphered as follows : 

“ ‘ Oh, wise men of the Attakapas, condemn not 


HOW PONIES CAME TO THE ATTAKAPAS 259 

men of your own tribe for having eyes that can 
see further than your own; and, in time, you 
may learn that six legs are more useful to your 
people than are two.’ 

“And thus came the first ponies to the green 
prairies of the Attakapas. 

“Apac became a great chief of the Apaches 
before he went to the Happy Hunting Grounds; 
and the tribe of his adoption grew to be one of 
the most numerous and powerful of those that 
once lived and hunted the buffalo on the great 
plains and prairies of our southwestern border 
states.” 



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